One Rich Life
New Year’s Eve
Today
we stripped
the pine
It rests
in the woods
a place for wrens
to sleep
Glass ornaments
tucked in tissue
are boxed on
storeroom shelves
Family faces recede
in train windows
one leap second
passes without sound
I bathe
in the light
of the blue moon
Her fingers
sift the dark
laying hands
on tomorrow
JZR
12/31/90
Keeping Christmas
No mistletoe snowmen tree
with twinkly lights angel
guarding us from the top
instead poinsettias a boxwood
wreath on the door the aroma
of pierogis stuffed with sauerkraut
mushrooms and garlic
almond cookies dusted with sugar
hearts brimming with Christmas
present past glad tidings
for the new year
A slow rain pocks the river drips
from the eaves the roof slippery
for reindeer our stockings lie
on the floor next to the jeans we wore
walking through the woods watching
for woodpeckers winter wrens
the chatter of tiny feathered creatures
filled the air like carols sung
by a multitude of heavenly hosts
Yesterday we delivered gifts
of homemade cookies to aging cousins
friends in the city thankful
for their presence remembering
losses suffered by so many who
will keep Christmas alone this year
JZR
12/23/o1
To each and every one of you, I send wishes for a holiday season filled with cheer and a New Year overflowing with promise!
“The truly rich person is the one who has a satisfied mind. The affluence of satisfaction comes from wisdom, not from external things.”
Lam Yeshe, When The Chocolate Runs Out
It’s that season again. Rage seems to rule the roads and people are desperate to get where they were supposed to be three days ago. I’m laying low, trying to stay out of the frenzy. The gifts that will be passed out on Christmas day are wrapped and ready to go. Soon I’ll be on the road myself to North Carolina to be with my “kids.”
I wonder how much taller they will have grown. Is eleven year old Zoe’s shoe size the same as mine yet? It was getting close the last time I visited in August. She has the coolest footwear and I can’t wait to be able to see how her pink high tops, studded with gems will look on me. I think she’s afraid I’m going to run off with her shoes, but all I want to do is try them on and walk around the room once or twice pretending I’m her age.
That’s probably why when she was a tiny, little girl, just beginning to talk, she named me, Batty. When she was born I claimed I was too young to be a grandmother and didn’t want to be called Grammy, Nana, Grandma or anything else that referred to me as “grand” and therefore “old.” She apparently heard me and simply started calling me, Batty, when she decided I needed a name. It has stuck. I’m also known to my little nieces as Aunt Batty.
I can relate. There are claims that my Grandmother on my mother’s side was “crazy.” I’ve always believed that all humans are a bit crazy, at least the ones I like to hang out with, so I think the name Batty is just perfect for me. Zoe recognizes me for who I truly am!
I can’t wait to see Noah’s sunny smile and give him a great big hug. He always gives me a little gift when I arrive … maybe one of his tiny matchbox cars or a bracelet he made out of a pipe cleaner and the tabs from soda cans. I wonder what it will be this time. He has promised to perform his speech as he gave it one night at school when he took on the character of Edgar Allan Poe. And maybe he’ll show me the ball room dance steps he’s been learning. Maybe we’ll dance together.
Zoe and Noah are my treasure. The ones I feel grateful for every morning when I wake up. They are better than chocolate. They are better than jewels, furs, fancy boats and all the stuff that people buy to keep up with the Joneses. I could live without my computer and my Ipad. But I could not live without my two grandchildren.
Miss Impy Molly !!
Molly came to us on November 22, 2003. She was rescued during the middle of the previous night from a severely abusive living situation where she lived outside, chained to a cement block. Her Home was made of 2 more cement blocks with a piece of ply wood fitted over the top. Her food, table scraps, were tossed on the ground. The same place where she pooed and peed.
She was delivered to us with a big pink ribbon tied around her neck and a brown paper sack filled with mats that my friend had clipped from Molly’s body. We all fell head-over-heals in love with her, especially Sam who was her soul-mate right from the beginning. My mother who was living with us at the time named her and spent hours massaging her as she herself was dying of lung cancer.
Molly was scared, ate as though she’d never been fed before and slept with us that first night. We discovered she had heartworm. She mostly walked on three legs and found she needed both hind knees repaired so that she could walk and sit normally. She was not spayed. We attacked the heartworm first, then the knees, then the spaying, though now I regret that she never had a chance to have a litter of pups with Sam. They would have been the world’s most perfect dogs.
We think she was a Maltese mix, perhaps a Malti-poo, meaning half Maltese, half Poodle. She knew how to set your heart to beating very fast with love and how to sneak around and get the cat food when you thought you were looking, but apparently weren’t. She loved everyone, showed no signs of anger or victim behavior. And she was great with kids. When Noah, our grandson, was very small and grabby, he one day took hold of her leg, looking as though he might try to pick her up that way. Molly gently took his hand in her mouth and removed it from her leg, as I watched on in awe.
She constantly licked and cleaned Sam’s ears and eyes and anything that might hurt. When she sat in your lap she would clean every inch of skin that was not covered by clothing. She would have made an amazing mother.
This past Sunday, at around ten years of age, after being sick on and off for several weeks, she passed, leaving this family totally bereft.
She had been doing well on Saturday, wagging her tail whenever she looked at me, went for her walks and ate well. On Sunday her breathing became labored and she couldn’t walk. We took her to the local emergency vet where she died on her own, as we hovered over her. She was taken by a tumor on her spleen that suddenly split open on Sunday. There was nothing to be done for her. Sam came into the room after she died, sniffed at her, looked at her then sat down as if to say, “Yes, I knew she was dying.” He is doing well, played with me this morning and later I watched Lily, our tuxedo cat, love him from head to toe as he slept on the floor. He is very clingy though and does not want to be alone. I know how he feels.
In my grief this morning, I was suddenly made aware that it is no mistake that Molly was sent to me and that my tendency to bring home abused animals is part of their and my own healing. Molly and all of the others who have passed, those still living, and those yet to come are my teachers, who have taught me how to parent myself and to find the light behind every cloud.
Lily, Sam and Molly
Today is Thanksgiving Eve. There is so much to celebrate and to be grateful for, I don’t know where to begin. But needing to begin somewhere, I am grateful for this lovely Iris that I planted last spring.
It is one that blooms twice a year, in spring and in the fall. I’ve been admiring them in a garden that I’m familiar with for several seasons. Even entertained the idea of slipping in one moonless night with a shovel. But of course that is stealing. This bit of loveliness that I carefully set in my garden in May did not bloom at that time, but weeks ago I began to see signs that she was getting ready to present me with a glorious Thanksgiving gift. It has been a fairly warm fall here, but we’ve had hard freezes and still she stayed the course. I am grateful for this bit of color, as the rest of garden goes brown for the winter.
Peppermint
I am grateful for my veterinarian, Richard, who is working with two of my pets who have been strangely ill these last weeks. He’s promised to not charge me for rent because I’m in his office so often and kindly puts up with my panic when Peppermint, the cat, can’t walk without falling over or when sweet Molly, my little Maltese-mix , throws up all over the place and is in serious pain. Both are doing better, but seem to have life long issues that they will need medication for.
Molly
I am grateful for all of my family. My supportive husband who edits and helps me clean up most of these posts. He seems to know where I’m coming from and where I’m going before I do. My children and grandchildren continue to be my teachers and sparkling rays of sunshine on dark, rainy days. For my brother, Zed, who has helped me through much loss.
I am grateful for all my helpers along the way. Kevin, for recently agreeing to be my writing coach as I begin to cross treacherous seas and entertain the idea of a book. He will be going off on a Semester At Sea, Around the World Cruise in the New Year. With his other coaching and writing jobs he may not be with me for long, but he is giving me phenomenal direction, not by telling me what to do, but by asking pertinent questions.
I am grateful to my dear friend, Sharon, who through her own pain, steadily holds the torch for me while I dig through layers of the past. I can’t do it without the light she sheds on my life.
I am grateful to all of you who come to visit here and let me know what you think, whether by leaving a comment or sending an email. I am grateful for all of you who don’t leave comments but come back again and again. I know you are out there.
I am grateful for the richness of my life … my friends, those I find difficult, and the day-to-day comings and goings of people and creatures who cross my path.
May Peace Be With You All!
