Blogging military brats

I love this website, though browsing it is not for the dull of mind or, at times, the weak of stomach. One post in particular was amusing to me, being a military brat:

The Candles

2 October 2008, 11:00 AM

The candles always meant so much,
lining the walls and lit by my hand
before the others arrived, one for every icon,
pieces of sanity amid chaos--Life Givers.

The icons, the incense, and from day one,
the faces and their unlikely
welcome of one who should have been a thorn
by definition. The people were Christ to me,
have always been, will always be. They welcome

now another thorn. I lit a candle one last time,
prayed they'll love him well, remain
who they've been for me.

Maria's Artwork

I met someone out at Talon Vineyard today who makes beautiful hand-dyed silk scarves and ties (if she had a website, I'd gladly post it). I talked with her a bit about painting and artistic expression, and told her I'd post some of my paintings and sketches. So, Lady of the Painted Scarves (a.k.a. Suzanne), here they are.

Hospitality

10 September 2007, 8:56 AM

I feel like myself today,
and I wonder where I've been?
Time has come-
Where on earth has HE been?-
to open doors and welcome
friends and family around
our table, set not only to satisfy,
but to delight with unexpected
hospitality. Even if it doesn't
turn out just the way we'd like,
still, at last we can give
out of the bounty- the overflow,
for there is joy to spare, and hope
has finally found her voice,
enough for a lifetime of Paradise,
for us and for the ones we love.

Pumpkin Party

27 October 2006
Wrote this a while ago, but never got around to posting it.

There were so many significances-
scents of cinnamon and cognac
in spiced wine, the second slice
of homemade pumpkin pie,

to say nothing of the pumpkins-

oh, the pumpkins!
The fight they gave and lost,
the battles won with store-bought
pumpkin carving tools, for this is serious
business we've engaged.

And the being with, wherein lies the magic
of any autumn evening, and certainly
a gathering of such magnitude.

The being with is what brings me to life,
what I cannot do without

Leslie

21 October 2006, 11:42 PM
Anniversary of Maria Vesper's death

I walked the course with Leslie
and talked about a lot of things today,
never wondering beyond my vision’s reach,
soaking up the rays and the faithful
friendship that only time can teach;
never once concerned with what I’d do
when I got home. I was content
to be with her and then to be alone.

Joy of the Evening

8 September 2006, 11:48 PM

I'm sitting at the south end
of a north bound statue pondering
an evening spent laughing and laboring,
inspiring and idling with heaven's finest,
loving all there is to love

and wishing in some part of me
that there were ways to see them
so much more clearly than I did
tonight. The cricket crawling at my feet
does not cause recoil as it might
if I were not intent upon appreciating
the finer moments of the night,
enjoying the company of so many angels
and the milder stages of intoxication,
avoiding the line beyond which
I've gone to far.

Can I love more than I've loved;
want more than You've given tonight?
There's a forlorn moment that comes
in the solitude; silence descending
in the aftermath speaks sadness to me
as the crickets chirp;
cicadas chirrup their lullaby
and I say goodnight, knowing
there are others for whom
the joy of the evening has only
just
begun.

Mattie's Magnolias

Awaiting Mattie's arrival.
10 July 2006, 7:54 PM

I.
To the right of the porch,
a young magnolia- the southern variety-
no pink saucer bullshit.

Don't get me wrong, the saucers are beautiful.
But the great southern magnolia has no equal.
So many graceful branches merging
to a trunk of such girth
it must have evolved from multiple seedlings.

Leaves of young, matte green, healthy
and open to the sun. I wonder how I ever
preferred the watered-down saucer bullshit
to this lovely bit of southern hospitality,
like an afternoon spent on a porch-swing
twenty years ago with my grandparents
and a tall glass of iced tea on a hellish,
South Texas Sunday afternoon.

II.
To the left and slightly back- I cannot see
its fullness- only a few aged branches
peaking out around the porch. An older specimen
I cannot call stately.

I remember how I came to prefer bullshit-prissy
saucer magnolias to a less refined variety.

Leaves are curled and waxy; darker, muted
green in places, yellow in others
with all the markings of a ripe, brown banana.
Foliage less dense, unarguably less attractive.

Halts the mind, mid-critique:

How easily one abandons
a thing no longer beautiful as it once was,
though still alive,
which in proper time gave joy of a kind;
in proper time would bring joy of another
if one could be found to receive the gift,

not unlike my grandmother
a decade ago, standing outside on the driveway
in a cotton dress waving, watching us disappear
around the corner. She stood there without fail
beside my blue coverall-clad granddad in the South
Texas heat. They never once considered
going inside before their granddaughter
was out of sight.

She is no less lovelynow,
sitting in her rocking chair, alone
except for the cats, hair discolored,
wits less poignant, a little worse for wear
after decades spent in that damned heat.

I steal another glance at the aged magnolia
as I wonder when last I saw my grandmother,
bearing no less love in her growing frailty,
standing in the sun, waving goodbye to me.

Waiting

Awaiting Mattie's arrival.
10 July 2006, 6:43 PM

Concrete is hard on a body,
regardless of it's berth; harder,
I'd argue, on skinny folk, those of us
with too little padding to ward off
discomfort of bone and solid, unforgiving
cement pressing hard against skin.

The sound of engines roaring
down a main drag that isn't Main Street
jerks me to attention every time.

Time... what time is it?
Where the hell are they?

No matter.

I'm sure to be thoroughly bug-bitten
by the time they arrive- more alive
for all the slap-and-scratch
keeping me alert, present, and waiting.

Back in Time for Vespers

On the Sheltowee Trail II
8 July 2006, 10:13 PM

We wanted to be back in time for Vespers,
so we set off early, though not as early
as we’d planned. We packed into vans
and headed to the Gorge.

It was a strange but beautiful slice of Paradise.
A little Nora for while, then all consented
to a blast from the past, immersing ourselves
in the King of Pop as my son danced to a song
he’d never heard… He’s still singing
about how really, really bad he is.

A supposed-quarter-closer-to-a-full-mile hike
to the swimming hole, a morning well spent
jumping off two-story boulders to an icy-cold
river below; swinging on a rope whose integrity
was as questionable as the potability of the water
into which we flung ourselves; of which all received
a fair mouth-full or two.

Smooth, flat rocks were good for the getting.
Several found their ways across the water hole
to a new resting place beside the boulder.
Perhaps they will not see the light again,
but no more glorious end may be found
for a well-worn skipping-stone, skimming dizzily
across murky waters so fast the one who hurled
could not quite count the skips from shore
to Sheltowee boulder.

We wanted to be back in time for Vespers,
so in the early afternoon we set out to hike
a five mile hike, kids-in-tow, on the Sheltowee.

Queen of the Rock-Skippers

On the Sheltowee Trail
8 July 2006, 1:35 PM

There's sand in my shoes.
That may be why they're called sandals.
Little children run this way and that,
splashing on the shores of the river.

The breeze is cool. The water, icy.
The boulder's just high enough to inspire
both terror and delight.

I think God made rocks for days like this.
He may even have made the one in my hand
to set the others in awe of me;
crown me Queen of the Rock-Skippers;
help us understand how holy it is
to laugh and play together often,
under a pale strip of blue sky
and sun's warmth, made gentler now and again
by a darkling cloud.

The trail is calling.
Noon has fallen.
Evening draws nigh,
and we want to be back in time for Vespers,
so we leave behind this corner of Paradise
to find another
as we set off on the Sheltowee Trail.

The Boss

Seager Sessions I
29 June 2006, 10:47 PM
Bert

There's nothing like a cancelled session,
a little Springsteen
and Bourbon on the rocks to make me glad
I'm not anywhere but here.

I can't say I recognized him at first,
all clawed-and-hammered up-
there's nothing like a little Seager
to make a man what he ought to be.

I'm terribly glad to be at home with you.
So many things ought to make me so not
comfortable with who you are.
The man's man has never been my forte,
to say nothing of the little black dress,
so intimidating at first glance,
but so appropriate.

And it's all those things rolled into one,
making you the big brother I never wanted;
the bouncer of my love life (or lack thereof);
the harasser of any man who comes to call
and the harbinger of gritty wit on a day
that wasn't what it should have been,
but was so much more than it would have been
without you,
the Boss
and the Roses.

Jump

Of Trees & Skydiving
28 June 2006, 2:29 PM

So you want to be a tree,
which, by the way, is fine with me.
I'm not yet prepared to leave
the shade you've provided.

You see, I also am a tree of sorts.
My roots are tender,
still a bit weak and reaching
down into the soil beneath
the canopy of your branches.

I've been skydiving all my life,
not unlike you in that regard,
each landing a gamble;
a little harder than the one before.

That last jump finally broke my pot.
Now I'll plant myself for good or I'll fade;
my branches will not green again.

I'm glad to know my roots
have time to grow strong
before you jump;
if you jump
again.

Dream with Me

4 June 2006, 3:15 PM

We lay under that tree again,
only this time it wasn’t Maille.
Little Jacob had the time of his life
wiggling his toes, grabbing my nose,
smiling at the faces I made
as his chilly little fingers found my face.

Maille found us, as if she remembered
that very spot a year earlier.
She plopped down beside us,
said my name and smiled, delighted
at how wonderful the wind felt to her toes.

Tree gave us shade, wind cooled our skin,
leaves danced and whispered in light
of a blue sky day, while great white cloud
ships sailed the deep.

A year ago today, I lay here with Maille
waiting for a storm that came
just as it had promised.
It came and thrashed about,
turned my world inside-out,
but left me whole and yearning
for just one more moment
beneath the shade of an oak tree
with whatever child saw fit to stare
at the azure sky
through the shimmering emerald canopy
and dream with me.

Thank You

9 February 2006, 10:20 PM

Thank you for a place of healing
of broken things made whole again
though scarred
imperfect
a place where time has little meaning
where every little part of me runs
free within a realm of relativity
contained within
the concept of Truth
the notion of Absolute

Worth the Read

16 January 2006, 1:16 PM

I didn’t know what to make of you
back then

I knew you loved me
because you welcomed me
fed me and mine
entered into relationship with one who
by all relevant indications
might prove more hindrance than help

Over time it has become clear
that you love me
not only because you’ve welcomed and fed me
put up with my eccentricities
opened your door
and even allowed me to open it a time or two

but also because you seek to know
to speak my language
to love me in ways that I will understand

You’ve become something akin to sister
and even alike to mother
(I intend no offense)
for the places you’d never have chosen to go
you enter for me

You know my story
what’s more
you find me worth the read

Thank you

Unencumbered

16 January 2006, 11:16 AM

He told me it’s lovely in December
here beside the reservoir
even in the biting wind
He said I ought not miss the sight

I neglected December
but January is milder than it’s been in years
and sitting here is lovelier than I’ve felt since
summertime
before my Sycamore lost her lovely green

She still bears
will always wear her splendid dappled skin
so bare yet so beautiful

She may be most beautiful
in consenting to be naked in the sun
disrobed
white and sage and brown
unobscured and unencumbered

He told me it’s lovely in December
here beside the reservoir

It’s lovelier yet
the colder it gets

I must learn to take it in
remember as I walk towards
the comfort of my home

alone

Another Vignette for Lisa

Dear Lisa,

I've been at it again-
I've filled this page up with my pen,
or rather with my keyboard.

And now my thoughts are safely stored.
Find below some reading for you,
and I had better "skiddley-doo"
off to bed...

for I've been reduced to Simpson-isms
in order to rhyme.

Doh!

Maria

For Lisa

September 27, 2005
12:06

Lisa, Lisa… Hello, Lisa!
You’ll read today and find that
I’ve been a busy girl;
a little naughty, like
the girl with the curl,
for I am up far past my bedtime
just to sit and write and rhyme
and post upon this silly site
a dozen poems (or more, I might!)
and give you quite an awful fright
when at last you come upon
the catch-up you must play today
to keep up with the stuff I write
tonight.

Hehehe…

Beyond Memories

September 13, 2005
10:24 AM

I savor these moments
when thirst and tears
abate quietly,
sipping tea with you,

at home
beyond the memories.