I miss you so often. If you were still here, we would see a lot more of each other because I’ve moved home now.
Almost every time we swim at K&M’s, I remember when you taught us to swim by throwing us in–“sink or swim” were your initial instructions. You were just the big brother helping out our single mom. She didn’t want any of us to drown. You accomplished your mission; we never did. I am also regularly reminded of your smile and your attentive listening because I see them copy-pasted in our younger brother.
Did I ever tell you how when you and Paula sent me the number 7 for my seventh birthday I used to think it was an F? Why did you send me an F from Germany, I wondered? Maybe you were in the army in France instead, I figured. (Did I also tell you that when I finally figured it out, I started crossing my 7’s? And I don’t think I told you I have saved that little 7 for almost 60 years.)
When I pulled up stakes and moved across the country, I remember the offer of a plane ticket back if ever I needed it. I never needed it because I married that guy, and I have the sweet memory of you walking me down the aisle on my wedding day–being the dad I hadn’t had for decades.
I enjoy every day of my life these days because you were a role model of a life well-lived. When you were diagnosed with heart disease as a young man, and having had a father who died of a heart attack at 43, you knew every year after 43 was a bonus. Your last 26 years were full of health, family, fun, and living in gratitude. Thank you for the legacy.
I love you so much,
Denny
During each day in the months of August and September, I am responding to a different word from Dictionary for a Better World: Poems, Quotes, and Anecdotes from A to Zby Irene Latham and Charles Waters, illustrated by Mehrdokht Amini. Today’s word is Respect. A small group of people wanting to make the world a better place are reading and responding together. Join us! Visit Common Threads: Patchwork Prose and Verse by Kim Haynes Johnson for more information.
I decided to order the book based on her blog post. However, now that I’ve seen the book in all its colorful glory, perfect size, and beautiful poems and ideas, I’m all the more excited to join Kim in digging into this beautiful book. Join us, if you would like!
They Covid-dodged for two and a half years,
and waited for vaccines before getting pregnant.
They vaccinated, remained cautious,
but somehow Dad contracted Covid
the day before Mom’s water broke.
I was the second-string support person
ready and on-call at 2:00 a.m.
I drove my daughter to the hospital,
where our room was designated a Covid
isolation room. Of course, we thought
we were fated to get it too, since we were altogether
several times before we knew he was infected.
After 36 hours of making labor a career,
my daughter dilated enough to start pushing.
I was juggling my duties as cheerleader,
Zoom meeting computer holder for Dad,
and chief (actually, only) photographer…
all at the same time.
But when that sweet baby boy,
firstborn of my firstborn,
and my very first grandchild,
entered the room, I stopped in awe.
Just like that, a whole other person
came into the world,
a new personality, I knew our lives
would be forever enhanced
having known him.
Because it was an isolation room,
I wasn’t able to leave (or if I did, I wouldn’t
be allowed to return). However, we didn’t figure out
that directive until I had gone out and come back in
with a celebratory McDonald’s meal.
We stayed in the hospital for two more nights
with the baby because he had jaundice.
His dad came to the hospital and met his son
through the window. It was a bittersweet honor
for me to get to spend so much time
with my daughter and their baby in those first days.
Who cares that I wore the same clothes from Tuesday 2 a.m. until
Friday at 7 p.m.? At least I had packed a toothbrush.
Maria tested negative for Covid a couple more times,
and we kept our fingers crossed.
After we got home, Dad kept isolating.
We would bring meals to his room.
When the baby was four days old, I took Maria
to the hospital to rule out high blood pressure
because of her bad headache.
While we were there, they said her BP
was fine, but we needed to do
a Covid test because headache was a common symptom
of the new variant. We sat in the exam room,
wondering, knowing it was still very possible.
Praise God, the test was negative, as our future tests
continued to be. We managed to avoid it again.
This sweet baby’s dad got to join him in just a few days,
a wonderful encounter of joy and awe.
Now, he is healthy and growing and over a month old!
Our sweet little jaundiced baby talking to me while we waited for his mom’s Covid test results.
It’s Poetry Friday. Thank you, Mary Lee Hahn, for hosting us today. Enjoy Mary Lee’s poem entitled: “That’s What You Wrote About the Green Beans.” It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, so it is good to be here with you all.
I was excited to participate in the summer poetry swap for the first time ever. I was paired up with Tabatha Yeatts. What a joyful experience!
Tabatha went to my blog and found inspiration from a poem I wrote titled: “What I Learned from the Birds and You.” She used my title for a golden shovel poem.
Photo by Tabatha Yeatts
YEAR TWO OF FEEDING THE CROWS
“You shouldn’t make friends with crows,” he’d told her…“They don’t have any manners.” ~Leigh Bardugo
The crows surprise me with what they know and what they don’t know. What
they don’t know: what it means when I hiss at them to be quiet. Stop it, I
say, as one rushes another, dagger-beaked and screaming. I learned
that they disgorge pellets –food less digestible than my oatcakes– from
watching one produce such a gift. Later, a second crow, spotting the offering, cast another. The
crows who aren’t brawlers strive to follow etiquette. It is these silent, solitary birds,
these sleek shadows willing to wait to be noticed, who stop me from putting the oatcakes away and
spur me to leave the curtains open. We can persist, trying to fathom each other– me and you.
Photo by Tabatha Yeatts
Do you believe it? She has befriended the crows, and though it seems true most of them lack manners, Tabatha feeds them anyway. I believe it is a good metaphor for loving the unlovable. I have crows in my town too, and I do look at them differently this week, striving to learn from them.
Thank you, Tabatha, for the wonderful gift. It was so fun to get it in snail mail and open it to see your beautiful poem, written for me, as well as the lovely postcards and stickers! My water bottle is enjoying the new decor!
Here’s the poem I wrote for Tabatha. You can click on each link to read ten of her poetry treasures!
I see a bobcat
moving across the yard,
Tawny and whiskered.
It strolls in front of me.
At first I thought it was my neighbor’s dog.
Then when I realized it was a big cat,
I began fumbling
for the camera button on my phone.
It stops for a second and looks at me,
(A quick pose, maybe?)
I’m still mishandling the camera,
as it gives up and saunters on.
I stumble across the yard,
Finally getting the video going.
I capture 35 seconds of
the Joshua Trees,
the bushes,
the sand,
the sky,
the fence,
and, finally,
still waiting for me,
the bobcat.
Emptiness’s last red is debt,
Its easiest fade to free.
Its late root’s shriveled;
And commonly so for years.
Before root rises to root
So squalor rises to bliss,
So dusk goes up to night.
Everything debt must go.
See the corn cobs grillin’ on the Weber
In the evening on a Monday night
Yellow butter sizzlin’ through the foil
Lets me know everything’s all right
Summer grillin’ makes me feel fine
Waftin’ through the heat and late sunshine
Summer grillin’ makes me feel fine
Waftin’ through the heat and late sunshine
I Have No Ideas
Five lines I get to poem anything,
But my ideas are all second-string–
the ransom of a king? a tire swing? how to sing?
that bee sting? my made-up trip to Beijing?
Maybe next time the well will spring.
I am the green
that hurts your eyes,
brilliant and dazzling,
bright and ubiquitous.
Here in the Emerald City,
the sprinkles come in
a circadian rhythm of sogginess.
Moss carpets wood and stone.
Ferns pop and ivies creep
Green, the only color.
The tangles of yarn
Are becoming a blanket.
Right now, they are sitting by
my Mother’s Day gift of board books—Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, The Very Hungry Caterpillar,
and I’ll Love You Forever, (yes, I will)
that I will read to you,
Sweet baby, on Facetime.
But now we wait for your arrival, Healthy and whole
Bearing life and
Bringing hope
To our world
Today I came to leave a little springtime joy (as summer bears down, making a growling entrance here in the California desert).
In April, Linda Mitchell shared this poetry prompt at Ethical ELA. It is a poem where you use one or more parts of the scientific method to inspire poetry. On April 25th, I wrote this because, after a sweltering day, we had gotten a dusting of snow overnight.
When
the weather
gods bewitch you
with heat and humidity
one day and freezing the next,
how do you always come up on top?
Or will you?
We’ll have to wait and see.
We spent five weeks of our spring in Orange City, Iowa. When we arrived, just about everything was brown, dead, cold and in winter despair. A month later, the Midwest was alive in springtime.
Update on the tulip poem: Orange City has a tulip festival every third weekend in May. The question I asked in the poem was a common theme of conversation around town all month. Will the tulips be up? Or will they be gone already, forcing the dreaded stem festival?
As usual, the tulips knew best, so the Orange City Tulip Festival was a big success. These pictures were taken on a beautiful day just before the festival (and the crowds). It was hard to believe this was the same brown town we drove into less than a month ago.
These were taken after the Tulip Festival. The tulips were still hanging in there.
We froze this day of the Tulip Festival in the 50s!
