For the Grandparents–cause we love them

Ulmer Clan 2011 VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

once more

September rings bright again

Bells tintintinning over the

hummings of summer

“Wake up sluggard”, to the plow

New ground awaits

expectant and fertile

Enigma

a mystery

a something that baffles

and cannot be explained

it is a riddle, a problem

a person, a thing

mysterious, ambiguous

from Latin aenigma,

from Greek ainigma,

from ainissesthai       

to speak in riddles,

from ainos      

a story , a fable,

a me

Captivated

The time when her cheeks were just this soft has past, and she’s been wearing glasses for half her life already.  But this is her – these are her inquisitive eyes, this her quiet intense look.  Readily absorbing all that is before her, watching carefully each detail, each important move, storing it up – for some  time or another.

I am captivated today with this amazing portrait sent to her from the artist, her Grandmother.  I can tell you the photo from which it is rendered, I can tell you the clothes she is wearing, I can remember they were not my favourite but they were what I had, I can’t however tell you what she is thinking, or even what she is looking at but I know the soft curve of those cheeks, the way she would look up at me and then away without a ripple across her face, just that look , as if by chewing on her lip, she could devour the world, bit by bit. 

Worlds of books have crossed those eyes, they have scanned mountains, prairies, hills, and sky.  I have wiped their tears, matched their glare, and gone soft in their shiny happiness.  I am held captive and have been for some time now. 

a something I wrote for a cbc contest

The topic was Unusual Childhoods (how could I not enter that):

I, the frog, did not notice the water set to boil. Most days, I was too busy climbing up into the rafters, hanging 8 ft. over cement floors, listening to The Rolling Stones, laughing at my brother swinging like a monkey, and ignoring my sister doing the dishes. We were the Lord and Ladies of Stark’s Bog ruling over all we surveyed – cast iron wood stove, kerosene lamps, piles of books and records . Out the window there was the dribbling creek, the “throne”, both geodesic domes, and the Bog, herself, replete with leeches and rickety dock. Other mornings, I was busy finding the royal bed chamber empty, supplies low, and the counting house sacked. On those days I was rallied into action, as meals were wrung out of oatmeal, water jugs packed home and doors guarded against marauders. All the while, too busy looking forward to a jubilant return, complete with bands of minstrels who might sit around spinning tales while they pulled dragons into their lungs, held them there, saved me from the pungent odour. Other times, I was too busy getting up late in the night to fetch oysters and clams from under the noses of trolls, who shone their lights from across the bay but couldn’t find me statue still on the beach searching after bubble trails. I was always too busy to notice that my overalls didn’t match the cords of my classmates, and too busy to notice that not every frog grows up royal.

tricks of light

Sometimes the light is so perfect it plays tricks on the eyes. I thought for just a moment that my babies had grown big and sure; I thought for a moment they didn’t need me and ran ahead without a care.  I thought for a moment they shouldn’t change, that they should remain.  But in the light now I see they are just as they should be growing in confidence and still carefree. 

something of my own

Every day I am in service to my family – every day regardless of school, holidays, or weekends I am serving – as long as I have charge over these lovelies I am at service, serving, putting aside and picking up, humbly and not so humbly laying aside my own wants, wishes, desires, and yes even dreams to ensure the wellbeing and care of my family.  And although there is a yes, there is a choosing, there is reward and benefit to my doing so – it isn’t always easy, or fun, or might I say it – uplifting.  It is sacrifice – the leaving, the letting go of, the putting aside of one’s own happiness for the sake of others is sacrifice and there are days when I wonder “if only I had known” but they are short moments and they do pass.  I think then of God and his wisdom – and content myself with my miserly sacrifice and carry on. 

This little blog here became some time ago my search beyond piles of laundry and dishes to find some sense of the who I had been before I became so entrenched in the service of my family.  I found that through the many meanderings I posted here and I found some much needed footing, a grounding which has carried me nicely over these last few non-blogged about years. But things are by no means perfect and I am again in need of some searching, some finding, some giving up, some weeding out. I find I am still in need of something all my own.

Much is covered and masked by snow and winter abounds in some areas of my life but I am content to know that there is something stirring beneath and indeed within which will come with the rains.