battered

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Foreword: I was once a battered wife. When our son was born, I found the courage to leave. There were no women’s shelters in those days and people didn’t talk about it like they do now. Today I am in a loving relationship and the abuse is a faint memory. Though I have never forgotten it, I have healed.

If you’re in an abusive relationship, seek help. Go to a shelter. That’s what this poem is about.

 

notes

 

hasty judgments struck from

a keyboard of false accusations

 

the melody becomes percussive

pounding frantic rhythms—the tempo of my nightmares

 

no harmony in our duet with bitter notes and

minor chords—no delight in our composition

 

what would happen if we changed our tune

listened alternatively to notes of love’s celebration

 

why not sing instead a nocturne chorus

perhaps a symphony or serenade

 

I’m hiding in an interlude of rhapsody—

legato—may we tune our hearts instead to love songs

 

I can’t stop loving you

lean on me

 

all I have to do is dream

save the last dance for me

 

instead I hear your endless empty promises

combined with sarcasm replacing good intentions

 

you chip away at my feelings of self-worth

while I bolster my courage to run from your abuse

 

bravely I seek a shelter where boldness burns and

builds—I have no more appointments with fear

 

secure in the knowledge there’s a shelter from your

aggressive symphony meant to conquer and control

 

brave now, I’m no longer your terrified, passive audience

slowly I’ll be free to compose my own melody

 

with a chorus of new elements and interludes

meant to press forth to a new-found autonomy

 

as I slow my tempo, rehearse my sonata—a solo voice

who recognizes ecstasy, accompanied now by violins of truth

 

wanting not to be battered, intimidated, or isolated

no longer accepting dissonance—no longer your victim

 

I pray for ease in my life—adagio—returning

slowly to my original pitch and beat awaiting

 

a finale to this mutiny where illumination composes

my decisions now, and in tune, I’ll belt out a new chorus

 

filled with notes of courage, strength and joy

into a new concert hall of my own promises

 

What Happens?

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electricity

Remember when you first felt the electricity

as if it were burning your soul?

kindle

Your lover was perfect. You were perfect.

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As time moves forward, your love may turn into something very different. Change is the only constant in life. Why not experience a change in how you and your lover feel and how you treat each other?

As time moves forward, as it will, things change. It need not be a bad thing; your love may take on new meaning.

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It is inevitable.

Years upon years change us as individuals, it is appropriate that our relationships change right along with time. Normal. Natural.

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Will it ever have that intensity again? I think so.

It may come in waves, but it does overpower us if we allow it.

.

The times in between may be sweeter in a new way.

Then we discover each other once more–we absorb our memories–our former heat.

.

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…..

What Happens?

What happens to us as young lovers

when first our bodies touch?                                                          

.

Does the sky open up, 

fill our hearts with endless possibility?                                               

.

How long does the metamorphosis 

affect our hearts and souls with                                                          

 

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showers of unguarded bliss and

twisting, swirling, juices of love?                                                      

.

Does that electricity continue

coursing through our bodies

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lighting up the darkest nights?

When we young lovers kiss, caress,                                                 

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laugh and dance, does the pleasure

spill over into other people’s lives?                                                

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But where do we find satisfaction when

we no longer inject love’s drug?                                                       

.

When it happens that youth’s

passion has been suspended; years later                                                

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do our dreams reach a climax before they

dissolve? Is there an ugly scar where                                         

.

 

love’s hallucination lived? Or does the memory 

of ecstasy erase the pain of shattering

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our solemn promise of love’s fantasy?

What becomes of ardor when it’s ripped from

.

our hearts and tossed aside without mercy?

Will the trash collector be required to                                             

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handle it gently as he puts our spoils

in the truck with the other garbage?                                                

.

Must our love dry up and scatter to the wind?

Instead can we place it on a high shelf where                                        

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it can rest and wait to be rekindled and

reassembled when we need it again?                                                        

.

Can the imagination of our youth transpose itself?

Will a new arrangement satisfy                                                 

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expectations of our earlier devotion?

Can love from long ago be solidified in                                                        

.

later years once time and troubles have

blended enough for tenderness to resume?                                                

.

Perhaps our craving will reappear to 

immerse us once more with love’s narcotic  

.

                                

4 koi in pond

Thinking Outside the Box

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Truck rusting in your yard?

Make a flower garden out of it.

Some people just know how to delight. Take the owners of these trucks on Sauvie Island just outside of Portland, OR. These clever folks planted flowers in different flower boxes. Bravo! That’s thinking outside the old box, isn’t it?

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Got a problem? There just may be more than one viable option when it comes to making decisions and solving your problem.

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My husband is a great one for realizing there is no box to begin with. Right away his mind goes in 50 different directions and he comes up with an idea. However, he is quick to warn you that there is a lot of thinking left to do. Don’t get too fond of that solution, because he’ll come up with another one in a few minutes, hours, or days. His problem-solving is a long process. He builds on each idea until he is satisfied with the result before he takes action. He amazes me with his brilliance.

I tried to teach critical thinking to my students, and it was not the most exciting thing for them. Try as I might to make it fun, it was more of a slog than anything. Except when we had Socratic Circles to ask each other questions about a novel we were reading. Make that: Some of them were reading for their homework. Some of them were texting, watching reality shows on TV, talking on their cells, taking drugs, (oh, there’s a good topic for Socratic Circle), and some were just growing hair on their heads and not much else. But I digress.

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I wish we, as citizens of the globe, would do more critical thinking about how to make this a better world. Some people do just that, but it doesn’t seem like it if you watch the news. I don’t have a TV, so now I don’t have to watch the news. I get my fill of internet news via my husband. I get to hear his rants about the craziness that goes on. Some of it is MIND BLOWING. I wouldn’t be able to make that stuff up. But don’t get me started.

Now all I’m thinking about in this moment is what to fix for dinner. Actually, I have to use some of the steps for critical and divergent thinking to do this. Civeche might be a good idea. I’ll think about this.

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What are you thinking about?

Einstein's desk

Einstein’s desk photographed two days after his death.

Cheap Thrills

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“Fly! Fly higher!” Kathy yells to me. We are six and four; cute little girls, both of us with blond hair and blue eyes.

 

The water meter on the side of my house stood only about 20 inches off the ground, but to us it was so high that we were certain we could launch from it, flap our arm-wings and soar. After an hour, we tired of this game, and moved on to more excitement as we bragged to each other of our long and harrowing flights.

It is when thinking of my childhood in the days of bumble bees and watermelon that I am reminded of a time when water did not seem such a precious resource.

Sprinklers meant to water lawns would often go unattended while water spilled onto the street. This runoff became a swift, running river to us kids. Kathy and I would carefully choose blades of grass to serve as boats for a race.

 

[UNSET]

 

As luck would have it, we had only a short walk up to the top of our street. Not much of an incline really, but good enough. “On your mark, get set, go!” We tossed our little blades of grass into the street’s river and watched as our boats maneuvered between the debris dotting the channels of water. When our little boats got stuck, the rule was to wait to the count of three before dislodging them, thus allowing the race to continue to our designated finish line. I don’t think we were extremely competitive, but I remember the taste of victory as being especially sweet. These childhood games were the stuff of our cheap thrills.

 

What happened to childhood innocence once we grew into mean, junior high school girls whose main concern was the latest gossip? The competition was hot and heavy in those days and the games were as different as the rules.

 

 

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Whatever were we thinking when my girlfriend and I agreed to meet after school and play strip poker with three boys we barely knew? Were their any brain cells popping? Probably not.

Filled with fear and hard-driving adrenaline, mixed with very little poker skill, one item of clothing after another fell to the floor. Knowing that I would become the fodder for gossip scared me almost more than exposing my teeny, tiny breasts. More like bumps with nipples really. But for some reason I had difficulty rallying the courage to call an end to the game. What was I doing there?

My shoes came off. Next my socks, my skirt, my half-slip. My reputation would be next. My heart was trying to escape my chest. Enough. I just can’t do this. Game over.

 

Thank God those boys were not of a violent nature. They did not harass us girls to stay in the game. We retrieved our discarded clothing, wrapping them haphazardly so as to cover ourselves, and escaped to the bathroom to dress.

 

Calling an end to the game meant we avoided a danger as real as if we had fallen and narrowly escaped from a pit of alligators.

 

Truth be known, I think the boys were as relieved as we were to be finished with our game of strip poker, before it stripped us all of what little intelligence and common sense we could have possibly possessed as adolescents.

 

sistersii

Oxymoron—a figure of speech in which one uses contradictory terms to express oneself

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oxymoron-300x300

cruising through the traffic jams of our lives

 

 

not cohesive in our togetherness

we are accepted outsiders

using illiterate knowledge for an unorganized plan

where stationary travel leads to ecstatic lethargy

in this delicate crude world

of our unreliable steadfastness

is that a deepness rising in your heart?

an unpromised pledge of yesterday’s future?

i steadily fall into an awkward grace

like a sadness of pleasure in my satiated hunger

and oh! what oblique straightforwardness

is this playful work we do

me with my basket brimful of nothing

where I carry my separate belonging

and ever so slowly we speed to discover

a calm excitement—hidden in our perfect flaws

unrevealed we materialize—familiar strangers

cruising through the traffic jams of our lives

Fair Warning

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At 84, when my father-in-law, Jay, got his cancer diagnosis, they told him he had 6 months to a year to live. With treatments he might get another 3 months, but those treatments don’t equate to 3 months of quality of life.

 

After his doctor told him, I don’t know exactly what went on in his heart of hearts, but what he demonstrated was grace and appreciation. He publicly remarked that he was grateful that he had lived a good life—been all the places he wanted to go and done many things of which he was proud. In the last eleven years he readily expressed how he had found happiness with his (3rd) wife, Valerie. She had brought him joy and given him unconditional love.

 

Merry Christmas 2007 Jay & Valerie

Merry Christmas 2007 Jay & Valerie

 

Disclaimer: Well, except she did make him eat healthier. That’s what a good wife does, right?

 

Jay had fair warning that death was coming soon. Did he change his way of living? Not at all. There was no rushing around to see more of the world or buying toys or much of anything different for him, even though he felt pretty good for the first 6 months after his diagnosis.

 

He told me he liked to sit in his recliner chair and read and watch old westerns on TV. He wanted Valerie in her chair right next to him. That’s what made him happiest. Instead of broadening his world, he honed in on it, making it smaller. He was at peace with a simple life. I would go as far as saying he was happy. He never complained. Not once.

 

And in the last months, Valerie was all about making it what he wanted. When it got to be too much for her to do alone, she asked me to come. I will be forever grateful for that phone call and the time I got to spend with them in the last couple months of his life.

 

Witnessing the stages when someone is actively dying can be hard on the ones who are there to hold down the fort. But it can be magical too, and precious. A few occasions brought us belly laughs, like the time the three of us were watching a Paul Newman movie and the camera panned to a couple playing poker. We were not expecting to see a naked woman at the poker table, but there she was with her perky, big boobs staring at us. Dad quickly drew in an audible surprise breath and said joyfully, “You thought I was asleep, didn’t you?”

 

One time I offered to clean his glasses and he was reluctant to let me for some reason. But I was anxious to please and after dousing them with soap and water, I proceeded to dry and polish them. As he put them back on I asked him if they were better. With a twinkle in his eye he told me, “That’s okay for a first try, I guess.” Oh, he could be sarcastic, but that was one of the things I loved about him.

 

His hospice care was a finely tuned machine. There may have been a few hiccups, but those small instances were overpowered by superb care. Appropriate medicine and equipment was delivered right to the door. The people involved in giving the care are unsung heroes. They anticipate needs of the patient and perform their duties with (dare I say?) what can only be described as love. Mostly things went without a hitch. The family caregivers (Val and I) were supported by hospice as well. They educated us about the stages of dying, so we knew what to expect, and they gave us much needed TLC. Hospice was a beautiful thing.

 

Between the care given by hospice and Valerie and me, we made Dad comfortable as he participated in his walk with cancer. It’s not all pretty; much of it is messy, and some of it is just plain heartbreaking. But as caregivers our only goals were to allow him dignity and provide him comfort, as he went on with this final journey. Dad died on July 17, 2015. He wanted, and got, a military service. Bless his heart.

 

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If you ever get a chance to help someone die, I recommend you do. It will be tough. Maybe the hardest thing you ever do. But it is the greatest gift you can give—to love someone so much—to help him make a smooth transition from life to death. Rest in peace, Dad. We hold on to our love.

 

At a Window

BY CARL SANDBURG

Give me hunger,

O you gods that sit and give

The world its orders.

Give me hunger, pain and want,

Shut me out with shame and failure

From your doors of gold and fame,

Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!

But leave me a little love,

A voice to speak to me in the day end,

A hand to touch me in the dark room

Breaking the long loneliness.

In the dusk of day-shapes

Blurring the sunset,

One little wandering, western star

Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.

Let me go to the window,

Watch there the day-shapes of dusk

And wait and know the coming

Of a little love.

 

I Took a Hiatus

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Sometimes life interrupts life.

Many experiences took away my energy for writing, but now I have a lot to write about and  I’m back. This summer my journey took me to places I’ve never been, and to places I used to be. It wasn’t all good. It wasn’t all bad. The woman I continue to become found unknown strength, but she disappointed herself sometimes too.

 

Somehow I have come to believe that the bottom line can never truly be the bottom line.

Conversely, the heights to which we aspire must never be reached, else we stop reaching.

 

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Hula Girl on our trip home.

I’m glad to be home.

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I’m glad to be writing again. Come back and join me?

 

 

 

 

Brains

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Speaking of brains, my husband says he only has two brain cells left and those two are fighting each other.

I used to have an open mind, but my brains kept falling out.

 the brain

We can most likely all agree that our brains are a precious part of us. According to a couple of websites I visited, the statement that we only use 10% of our brains is pure myth…bunk! Read about it at: https://faculty.washington.edu/chudler/tenper.html

That’s good news to me. I don’t like wasting things, especially my brain. Lately I’ve been thinking (using my brain!) that I should learn more about this marvelous thing, and maybe even do some things to keep those dendrites growing. Those are the things that make the synapses. I learned a long time ago that we can keep growing dendrites and that Albert Einstein’s brain was packed full of them. Apparently his brain was examined after his death.

precious brain

 

We’d be lost without our brains. Look at all the things it does for us. I, for one, am going to look into things that can help me keep mine healthy. In the meantime, here is a list of 10 interesting things about the brain that I got from the internet.

  1. The average adult human brain weights approximately 3 pounds.
  2. The human brain is composed of approximately 75 percent water.
  3. The average weight of a newborn human infant brain is about 350 to 400 grams.
  4. Recent estimates suggest that the average adult brain contains approximately 86 billion neurons.
  1. Only about 10 percent of the brain is made up of neurons; the other 90 percent is mostly composed of glial cells. Glial cells perform a range of functions, including acting as a “glue” to hold neurons together. They also perform housekeeping functions by cleaning up excess neurotransmitters and supporting synaptic growth.
  2. The brain continues to form new connections between neurons throughout life. Old beliefs suggested that the brain was fairly set in stone early in life, but neuroscientists now know that the brain never stops changing.
  3. Among children and adults between the ages of 1 and 44, traumatic brain injury is the leading cause of disability and death.
  4. The most common causes of traumatic brain injury include falls, motor vehicles crashes, and assaults.
  5. The average size of the human brain has decreased by about 9 cubic inches over the past 5,000 years.

  6. The brain uses a lot of energy. While it represents only about 2 percent of the body’s total weight, it requires about 20 percent of the body’s oxygen and 25 percent of the body’s glucose.

This list is from: http://psychology.about.com/od/biopsychology/fl/10-Quick-Facts-About-the-Brain.htm

Okay, my brain is challenging your brain to keep up. Use it or lose it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life is Sweet

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What makes you happy?

Watching the whales?

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A garden with trees and flowers?

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Going to a concert?

Seeing a Mariner’s game (especially when they win)?

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The Seahawks in the Super Bowl?

Celebrating an anniversary? (Our 36th is coming up in May)

Spending time with family and friends?

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Your doggie?

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A beautiful sunrise/sunset?

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A walk on the beach?

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Counting on a friend?

A hike in the mountains?

 

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If you’re like me, the list of what makes you happy just goes on and on. Life presents us with problems for sure, but it also surprises us with some wonderful gifts too. It’s important to be thankful for all of it. So today I’m going to be happy because of all the seemingly small things that give me joy. Life is so sweet.

 

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Make a Splash

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Take each day by the scruff of the neck, throw it to the winds, and make a splash! Whatever happens, happens.

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As I learn and grow I realize that I can take on more of what life has to offer, and make it into more of what my dreams are made of.

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Lately I’ve been asking myself, “Why not work on appreciating all that you have?”

It’s a good day? Great! It’s a bad day? Fix it. And if I’m blessed, there will be another day coming. One that has nothing in it yet. Think I should just make a splash!

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I want to be better at making each day what I want it to be. Even when I have tasks that aren’t that much fun and can even be considered downright awful, there is more to any day I’m given to make into something better.

 

I’ll set aside some time for the not-so-fun stuff and give myself the rest of the day to experience joy–in whatever form that is for me. Reading? Doodling? Sewing? Camping? Walking on the beach with my dog? Body surfing? Making dinner to share with friends? Writing? Oh, and there is always napping!

 

I love my options.

 

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Okay…let’s let the day begin. I’m alive, alert, awake, joyous, and enthusiastic about life!

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All the photos are from 9 Palms on the East Cape, about a 3-hour drive from our home.

Life can certainly be good.

Willpower

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sobriety

April 2015 marks my 36th year of sobriety. You could say that demonstrates that I have pretty darn good willpower. And certainly I do as far as staying away from alcohol. But life presents me with many other temptations for which I could improve my willpower.

 

 

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Who among us can resist a piece of chocolate?

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The so-called health experts even suggest that chocolate may be good for us. Great news! But they aren’t talking about eating a lot of chocolate (darn); think moderation. In fact, moderation is the key for many things. How are you doing with that? I vacillate with the whole moderation thing. I need more willpower.

 

habits of thought

If you’re like me you have good and bad days. Maybe even a little of the in-between, right?

 

keep your balance

 

Here’s what I want: To experience more good days, when I have sufficient willpower to take better care of my mind and body. I’m after more balance.

Recently I have been doing some reading and have come up with a few ideas for myself. If you’d like to join me, that’s great. Maybe you already have lots of willpower and you don’t need anymore ideas. That’s great too. I guess you could stop reading at this point.

 

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Four areas where I’m starting in order to gain more willpower:

  • Meditation daily
  • Exercise smarter
  • Sufficient sleep: Some experts suggest seven hours of sleep, and to include a one-hour daily nap.
  • Chunking–take big tasks, goals, dreams, etc., and chunk them into manageable pieces.

You’re probably thinking this is all merely common sense. Certainly it is, but even so, how much of this do you incorporate into your life? I’m pretty good at exercising everyday because I have a dog that loves to run on the beach at least twice a day. I have to admit I did a lot more exercise in my former life: in the gym when I lived in Washington.

Daily exercise is a good habit, everyone knows that. But it has to fit in one’s life plan, and that means sticking to a goal of actually doing it. This is where good ol’ willpower fits in.

Sometimes we get lazy, but more importantly we aren’t making our own health and well-being a priority. But even when I went to the gym everyday, I wasn’t as fit and happy as I am today. I’m no expert, but my educated guess is that I fell prey to the demon that’s known as STRESS. Most of that came from my work. Even though I loved being a teacher, there are many things about that profession that caused me great stress.

 

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But back to the present: I’m getting older and it is even more important than ever to use my willpower to make sure I stay as healthy and happy as possible. This is where I feel meditation can have the most impact in the quickest and most satisfying way.

There’s only one way to say it: I am a novice when it comes to meditation. In my researching that I did online (love the internet), I found a site that is helping me; it’s called HEADSPACE. I signed up for a ten-day trial, and I am on day two. I’ve been guided in meditation for 10 minutes a day (for two days of my ten so far) and it’s FABULOUS. Ten minutes is do-able. I don’t know if I’ll sign up to continue once my free trial is over, but at this point I am impressed.

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I am encouraged that I will finally learn how to meditate and the even better news is that I can be comfortable while doing it. I can sit in a chair to meditate, instead of trying to sit like a pretzel on the floor. Maybe you don’t have a problem with sitting on the floor in an uncomfortable pose, but I do. Maybe that’s why I avoided meditation for so long.

 

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Life is good, even when it’s not.

While I’m still here, I’m going to work on getting better, instead of letting myself down.

It’s going to take willpower, and I’m going to garner more of it. Join me?

 

dontgiveup

Heat

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Dedicated to women of a certain age and those who wish to understand them.

 

fire

 

I remember with shame the weakness of my first attempt to embrace my victim. In the beginning, my pitiful gift of heat came as merely a rush of energy — almost a pleasure to her. The failure to cause her proper torment showed my weakness.

On my second go, I resolved to make her miserable. Determination brought forth my strength—bit by bit, and with practice I had my victory! Pride filled me when finally my blast incinerated her.

Since then, always somewhere in the middle of her chest I take hold. I hunker down for a while gaining strength. She feels the flame of my evil intent. I know she does, because she fidgets, pulling at her clothes. It is her feeble attempt to get some air movement between her skin and her garments. My vehemence occupies all of her—tissue, muscles, veins, cells, and best of all, her confused, unhappy mind.

I move faster and farther, invading her arms, shoulders and neck before flushing to fill her cheeks. Her ears turn red; she is engulfed, sensing nothing but the burn now. Next, I race from her upper body, pulsing down to her toes, before rising again to disrupt her brain. I bring wicked waves of heat and she knows not how to rid herself of me, her uninvited visitor, her bringer of change.

It gives me great joy to know the ride with me forces her to burn in a hell of my making. In her ear I hiss, “Nothing can stop me.” I laugh as her hair forms into ringlets. Drops fall from her face onto her white blouse. Drip. Drip.

She focuses every ounce of her resolve, longing for relief from my hot, tight grasp. Ha! She can’t get to the window for some sweet air or rip off her outer layer fast enough. She’s frantic. “Open the window for God’s sake. Where is the damn fan?” I do so relish the time we have together. Her body is my vessel; I am her furnace.

But it is enough for now. I am bored with her, though satisfied with how pathetic she looks flapping her fan, pulling at her clothes, soaking up hot sweat with a handkerchief. Her fever lessens as I release my grip, but I can’t resist jeering. I vow to occupy her again. Soon. How I cherish knowing she dreads my return.

For weeks, months, possibly years, she will suffer with anticipation of my inferno.

Does she realize how proud I am to be her beast of misery?