Tag: life

JOY – We have lived! We have loved!

JOY – We have lived! We have loved!

Grief, Joy, Poetry
  “It is best as one grows older to strip oneself of possessions, to shed oneself downward like a tree, to be almost wholly earth before one dies.” Sylvia Townsend Warner, Lolly Willowes or the Loving Huntsman [recommended] On May 28, 2014 our Group for people with life-threatening illnesses celebrated the lives of those who have already passed on. I was unable to attend the memorial service due to bronchitis, but I celebrated all those people and two of my family with the poem I share below. Our Group is comprised of people from several different religious traditions and is hosted by our local Insight Meditation Center. The group was founded and is run by a Buddhist chaplain who has been very kind and is a stalwart friend to each of us. Though I continue to follow the progress o
Time of Orphaning

Time of Orphaning

death, Grief, Short Story
It’s tough when you are orphaned at seventy. I say that without rancor or irony. I’d known Mrs. O’Donall and her daughter for fifteen years, which at the time of this story was the entire length of my life. The ladies - as everyone called them - were fixtures in our parish. Each morning they arrived at St. Anselm's at precisely six-fifty for daily Mass. Their consistency was such that my mom said she "could tell time by them." They generally made their way into church arm-in-arm and always sat in the first pew. While the younger lady was fragile, tentative and wide-eyed, the older one was stern, sturdy and quick-minded. With her daughter in tow, she worked on the Annual Church Carnival Planning Committee and in the Women’s Auxiliary as well, relied upon to help the nuns clean the sac
sleeping with walls

sleeping with walls

poem, Poetry
sleeping without walls the fields that year taught the art of sleeping outside, sleeping without walls, watching the stars and moon, our dreams spun from sunsets and morning dew ~ we slept in bedrolls configured from old white sheets and the khaki wool blankets my uncles took to war, i wondered about my uncles as i did about many people, many things and that summer held varied delights, climbing trees, eating cherries without washing them . . . oh! ~ and there were blueberry bushes and fig trees and i lined the path to the food hut with odd sunday stones i said my own prayers while the big girls were at Mass and marveled at my middle-aged mother’s plump knees i marked her spirit for wearing bermudas, for joining children’s games, sitting ’round fires, making ‘smores