We've Come a Long Way, Baby!

Somehow I am positive that no one that reads this blog is not registered to vote by today, but here is a little further inspiration:

It was only 88 years ago women were granted the right to vote. Before then women were jailed for picketing the White House and carrying signs asking for the vote. In 1917 forty prison guards went on a rampage against 33 women wrongly convicted of "obstructing sidewalk traffic." They beat Lucy Burns, chained her hands to the cell bars above her head and left her hanging for the night bleeding and gasping for air. They hurled Dora Lewis into a dark cell, smashed her head against an iron bed and knocked her our cold. Her cellmate Alice Cosu thought Lewis was dead and suffered a heart attack! Alice Paul went on a hunger strike but was held down and force fed with a tube. For weeks the women's only water came from an open pail and their food infested with worms. A doctor said "Courage in women is often mistaken for insanity."

This was less than 100 years ago - some of our grandmothers were alive then - talk about injustice! (see yesterday's post)Thank you our suffragette sisters!

COEXIST XII - Small Injustices

I need to learn to COEXIST with small injustices. I have always had a sense of righteous indignation when it comes to children and that is why I became a special education teacher. Other than that, as a child and young adult I was a tolerant, go-with-the-flow kind of person. In my mid-thirties, no longer having any choice, I learned to feel anger, rage and disappointment. Ever since then I've had much more difficulty handling anything I find unfair or unjust. I struggle with it and pray about it and think about Jesus famously overturning the money changer tables in righteous indignation. Does that mean we can do that too?

At work my frustrations are in advocacy for my students, yet time after time I have been slapped down for those legitimate concerns, so I go to work telling myself to keep my big trap shut. When my former church planned to move to another community I became the unwitting spokesperson in the fight against it, but ultimately put in my place when they moved anyway. I've been an incessant letter writer and have sometimes regretted my words (or the fact that they were in writing!) My poor husband has received more than his fair share, but fewer and fewer as the years go by, so I've made a little progress.

This leads to the weird thing that happened today: In our city there has been a controversial plan to build a lifestyle center/shopping center. Its entrance would be near my neighborhood, so petitions were started and outrage expressed at council meetings. I wasn't entirely against it. Last week signs against the issue were placed at both entrances to my development as well as on over a dozen front yards. Our association has deed restrictions that are fairly rigid and everyone likes it that way because they enhance the appearance of the neighborhood. Well, one of them is NO SIGNS!. So I got my panties in a twist about how one particular person could overrule the deed restriction and decide that he could speak for all of us. I couldn't stand the thought of looking at all those signs for another month so ---you guessed it ---I wrote a letter. I edited it several times into a more polite and unoffensive one too! It said, as secretary for the association (which I am ) I was reminding them that signs are not allowed. I could have left it at that but noooooo - I had to get my two cents in saying that signs at the entrances purport to speak for all of us and each voter has the right to their own opinion and vote. I also added something about all the lesser complaints that had been heard at meetings over the years and that if we make exceptions now then we can expect to continue that precedent blah, blah, blah.

In the darkness of night I put them in the offenders' mailboxes last night. This morning as I drove to work I wondered if any signs would be taken down by the time I got home. Then - when I got to work I checked email and saw that someone had informed me that the whole project has been canned!!!!! Today! The same day I sent my letter! The day I just had to spout off!

Is God trying to tell me something???

PS - all the signs are still there. :(

Her Favorite October

Within a yellow glowing
a smoky fire burned
the contents of two hearts and minds
as fluid as the air
rekindled, reunited
from a time of ashy tears

from the sweetness of the chocolate
their lips, their tongues, their kiss
it all tasted good and true
and he said that he loved her
and she said that he was right
and only two best friends
could have created what they did

the day transcended their darkness
the hope sparked into a flame
the lonely days were smothered
in a smoldering autumn burn
their journey will continue down the path
of leaves and grass and snow
and this October is her favorite October
because of them

The Death of Common Sense

This email was forwarded to me the other day and I thought I'd share it because it seemed particularly timely in these months of political rhetoric and , well --- it made sense.

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved friend Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in from the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more that you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six year-old charged with sexual harrassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer aspirin, sun lotion or a Band-Aid to a student, but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant or wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to recognize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap and was awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Trust and Truth; his wife, Discretion; his daughter Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by three step-brothers; I Know My Rights, Someone Else is to Blame and I'm a Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.

Why Seasons Change

Barren October maples bow
to November oaks, brown leaves
the size of pancakes finally slip
from ancient suburban trees.
Buckeyes collect themselves
at the edge of the sidewalk
looking good enough to eat.
Sycamores smell as sweet
as a new summer breeze
as sweet as the day
you first saw him.

Balmy March, but tufts of snow
still sit by the roadside like
dirty clouds, or used cotton balls
stuck in the vee of branches,
their beauty long past. The sun
has not penetrated their souls.
Their shapes as varied as the flakes
that formed them, unique as the
first strawberry on your tongue,
as new as the day
you first saw her.

Hang Your Hat on the Moon, My Daughter

These are song lyrics by Vicki McCrone. She is the daughter of my late friend Maryanne.
This is for my daughter.

One by one your senses come alive
but you know it doesn't happen overnight.
So stop your worrying about wondering why
it took so long for the season to arrive
'cause you know you've got to keep on moving on,
you've come such a long, long way.

Hang your hat on the moon my daughter
Don't give up til it's time to give up,
just hang your hat on the moon.

It will come - all it takes is a little time
all it takes is knowing there is something more
so what is all this crying for - it won't be long,
I can see it in your eyes.
I can see you've got to keep on moving on.
You're not that far away.

In the dark it would come to try to take the dream away
but it's a different day now,
and you're wide awake now.
In the dawn will be what you have wanted all along
As if it always was - don't ever give it up.

Just hang your hat on the moon , my daughter.
Hang your hat on the moon.

The House on Oakmont Drive

Maybe each of us drives by the house on Oakmont Drive occasionally. The house where my children were raised. The house where I was raised from the dead. But this time as I slowed the car down to look, my daughter next to me, there was a public auction sign. It was empty. I backed the car up and pulled into the driveway like I had hundreds of times over those eleven years. We looked at each other like two kids in a candy shop and decided to go look.

The spacious welcoming front porch seemed tilted even farther than I remembered as we climbed the uneven stairs. We peeked in the windows and saw the living room, dining room and what we called the music room adjacent to each other. All the walls and woodwork were white. The floors uniformly covered in beige carpet.

But in that moment in time I saw something different. I saw country blue woodwork and matching drapes. I saw flowered couches and scratched wooden floors that were so crooked you could drop a marble and watch it roll through the rooms. I saw every hand-cut Christmas tree in the corner. I heard children's voices and someone playing the old upright black piano. I saw two long-gone dogs at my feet. There were dozens of friends and family crowded in at Thanksgiving and New Year's Day around my grandparents' round wooded table.

I saw every knick-knack, rug, painting, and the wallpaper my mom and I had carefully hung in the dining room. My dishes were still in the leaded glass cabinets with a blue cushion I made on the window seat between them. The canary cage hung in the back corner and Oliver was singing his heart out. The French doors separating that room from the dining room were the ones I spent days stripping multiple layers of paint off the glass. My daughter and I stared in surreal wonder. Even with all that missing it was still so very familiar. It was home.

We walked around to the side yard and remembered mean old Mrs. Skinner yelling at the kids, and the dog getting maced by the mailman the day we moved in. In the tiny backyard there was an empty spot where the wooden swingset had been, built for the kids by their dad. My glorious lilacs were gone. The dogwood tree we planted as a memorial for our dog was gone. There were people in the house next door, but not my dear friend Jeanne, whose funeral I had attended a mere two months ago.

The basement windows were now opaque, but in my mind I could see the dim, dank room that held my son's first drum set, and the jacks we'd installed to hold up the sagging floor above. We couldn't climb the stairs inside but I could still see her pink bedroom walls, his blue bedroom walls. I could see all my books on the hand-built shelves that lined the hallway. I could hear myself crying in the extra room behind my bedroom or in the clawfoot bathtub with the water running, trying to cover the sobs.

I could hear children running through the house laughing from the games we'd play on family night. Then I saw their faces the day we sat in that living room and told them their lives were about to change forever.

As we got back in the car I could see my son and daughter on every first day of school on that front porch - new clothes and shoes, new backpacks and smiles, and I wanted it back. Oh, how I wanted it back. There were some days in that house that I would do anything to re-do or to erase from my memory. There are hundreds of days I would love to relive.

Then there was the day when I opened that same front door and saw a certain man - and I was looking at my future.

I Live My Life in Widening Circles

I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give it to myself.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and still I don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm or a great song?

Rainer Maria Rilke
from The Book of Hours

My Favorite Show

Generally I think there are four situations when television is a good thing:

1. When you are nursing a baby at 2AM.

2. When you're too sick to do anything else.

3. When you've had a bad day and you get enjoyment from watching sitcom morons screw their lives up more than you have.

4. When there's an real event or crisis and you know exactly what's happening.

I like sitcoms because there are no committments to watch again. I don't like reality shows with people who would normally appear on Jerry Springer or those who act like their age is their IQ. I have never watched an episode of Law and Order or CSI, even though I'm sure they are good programs. And sadly, I don't have much of an imagination for fantasy. I don't own a DVR or a Tivo because nothing is worth recording - okay, the real reason is that I would record General Hospital every day.

But I have watched ER since the first episode when they wheeled in Nurse Carol after a suicide attempt. ER doesn't fit into any of my four reasons to watch TV though - and it's very strange that I like it so much since I spend the majority of the show with my hands splayed over my eyes since I am squeemish (almost faint) at the sight of 1. needles 2. blood 3. surgeries 4. anyone in pain. Nevertheless - I've always loved the show.

Last night was heart-wrenching. (SPOILER ALERT) If a show is well-done and you have watched the same characters for years in vulnerable situations - you feel like you know them - kind of like a good book. Last night Dr. Greg Pratt (Mekhi Phifer) died surrounded by all his ER doc-friends trying desperately to save him. You could swear you were witnessing a real person facing his own death - the terror on his face was so real.

My only point here is that sometimes TV shows are amazing. We're so used to everything looking so real that we take it all for granted. Imagine what it takes to make some of these shows. Actors get waaaaaayyyy too much attention and glory and I always say they are just people pretending to be other people - big deal. But last night Mekhi and company broke my heart. So this is my little tribute to one of my all-time favorite shows. It is in it's fifteenth and final season (how time flies!). Hunky doctors have come and gone and I'm still watching - and I think I'm going to miss it when it's gone.

My Day

This is the kind of day I had.

I'm trying to remember what this felt like.

Wine Update

Several times a day the handsome Italian winemaker pushes the grapes down in the barrel as the carbon dioxide pushes them to the surface.

The beautiful juices flow out of the handcrafted press. Do not suggest to the winemaker that he has stomped the grapes with his feet like Lucy - this annoys him.

The juice rests and relaxes in five gallon jugs. Now we wait.

The aftermath in my laundry room/winemaking room. Yikes! (He cleaned it up though.)

COEXIST XI - Are We So Different?

Recently the Cleveland Plain Dealer featured an article by Margaret Bernstein that reported a traveling exhibit coming to our Museum of Natural history entitled - "Race: Are we so Different?" She states," The DNA strands twisting through the cells of any one individual, whether that person be black, white, Asian, or Latino, bear surprisingly similar patterns to all other humans, especially when compared with the genetic variance in other species." She goes on to report that all humans originated in Africa and that the varieties of skin color evolved as an adaptation to the sun's ultraviolet rays.

I don't know about you, but I don't find that all that surprising. It's even biblical. Whether you believe that Adam and Eve were literally the first two people on Earth or whether you believe they represent the first humans God created - we're pretty clear that it was over in the Middle East - North African region of the Earth.

I don't think that I've ever doubted that God created ALL people equal and in His image. So what happened? First the Native Americans were here. I won't go into the horrific way they were treated by our European ancestors, but the Plain Dealer article sites the example of federal lawmakers in the 1880's trying to make the American Indian culture disappear. There are photographs of Indian children in their traditional garb and long hair and four months later the same children dressed in school uniforms, sporting chopped off braids. That's just one example of the intolerance of other cultures.

We know that African people were brought here to be slaves. I 'm sure some slaves were treated well and maybe even revered their masters, but for the most part I would think it was a life one would want to escape from. So what did they do? They created their own culture. Songs, food, stories, which eventually were passed down through the generations. In the course of history slavery in America was not all that long ago - and so now we continue to have differing cultures. This is where racism, intolerance and bigotry come in.

I will never forget the year I was assigned to a new school building. The district was providing a lot of "multicultural" training for all the teachers. I was new to the staff , and in the course of one of our multicultural sessions I made some kind of comment about all the students being the same to me. There were several black teachers on the staff and they became infuriated with me for that statement. "No! They are not the same! You must recognize their differences and celebrate them!" (or something to that effect). A rather loud and uncomfortable discussion followed while I tried to slide under the table.

Later, the principal, who was a black woman, said to me something like - someday you'll understand. I felt foolish and humiliated. The principal never liked me after that day.

That experience stuck with me. What's wrong with us being equal but not the same? What's wrong with different cultures within one country? Nothing as long as tolerance and coexisting happen from both sides.

Happy Birthday COEXIST!

COEXIST was created one year ago, and it's been an experience of growth for me. Bloggers seem to share the collective feeling that we are friends who have never met. We have entered each other's lives in big and small ways over this year.

I have met wonderful, thinking, creative, reverent and irreverent women with whom I've discovered great commonalities. I have shared Skywatch photographs with people all over the world. I've met stay-at-home-moms with much more insight and wisdom than I recall having at that age.

I've met a wonderful actress and singer, now retired in the Hollywood hills, who shares nature photographs as well as pictures that include many familiar movie and television actresses that she still knows. Her photographs and memories of a Hollywood gone by are precious.

I've posted my poems, - some carefully thought-out and some spontaneous and unrevised. I've been interviewed by a blogger in England.

I've been tracked by the Cleveland Plain Dealer and quoted on Cleveland.com.

Blogging friends have bought and read my book and I've read theirs as well.

I've enjoyed and treasured every single comment and word of encouragement. THANK YOU.

This blog has made me think (every day!) and be more creative. It's made me write more and form more of my own opinions. I've been privileged to be an inspiration and to receive inspiration .

Blogging has literally opened up the world and made me believe in COEXIST even more as I see every day how much more we are all alike than we are different.

My Grandmother's Gift - Part 2

Nostalgia by Elsie Heberling
(This was written about her childhood in the 1890's. She probably wrote this piece in the 1950's or 60's, but she did not put dates on her writing.)

Nostalgia can be a devastating thing; and after wrestling with its gnawing, which at times brought a form of sickness that could no longer be denied, on a bright and hot August morning we set out for the hundred mile trip to visit my childhood home. The early sunrise was just beginning to stain the eastern sky with all its color and glory as we drove out onto the highway. It was not the distance that had prevented me making such a visit, but I was afraid it might be changed; and I never wanted it to change, and besides, I wanted to see for myself.

Perhaps it was the poor quality of the fruit that the market stalls were offering, with their tough wooden texture, that caused me to go at this time when I knew the fruit trees would be yielding their burdens of lusciousness. I had visions of plump red and golden peaches hanging heavy with ripeness in the hot sun. As children we had plucked them fresh from the trees, all for free, just for the taking, and if we sometimes acquired a bellyache from an over abundance, why that was for free also, and we accepted it as a matter of course and well worth the discomfort. A peach ripened on the tree, fresh and delectable, provided an ambrosia that the ancient gods could not surpass. I had prepared myself to once again partake of these delights.

When we arrived, the sun was high and hot, but the big white house standing back from the road on a higher level, seemed cool and serene. The first glimpse of it through the trees caused the lurch of homesickness to creep over me with greater intensity than I had ever known. As the car moved slowly to where we could have a better view, there was much evidence that it was not the same at all. Many changes had been made. The wide porch that had spread full width across the front had been enclosed in glass. On the same porch we had sat together as a family, in the evenings. The cool breeze would waft down the creek valley and bring relief from the day's heat, and as twilight deepened, we children would count the stars as they appeared in the sky, until there would be so many we could no longer count them. We listened to the hum of the night insects and the forlorn croaking of the frogs. A little later we would sit entranced, watching the lemon colored moon slowly rise into the velvet sky, directly over the church steeple. And each time in its never failing rising, it would appear to us as a new and wonderful revelation.

This is only the first part of her essay on Nostalgia. I think her descriptive writing is beautiful and insightful. And so, my grandmother's first essay is published on the Internet, on a blog - two things she never heard of or could have imagined in her lifetime.

Random (TGI) Friday Fotos

I call this one "Dude, where's my house?"

These are the delicious grapes from which my husband will make delicious wine. I always endeavor to do my best in my role as taste tester.

I found Tinkerbelle at a garage sale this week. She's just for me.

My Grandmother's Gift

In August we hosted the annual family reunion as we always do. Everyone graciously thanks us for doing it, but I am so grateful to them for being such an amazing family and for making the effort to come from all over the country so we can see each other.

This year I received an additional gift when my cousin turned over my grandmother's manuscripts to me. In several old boxes I found many short stories, essays and articles with my grandmother's thoughts and opinions as well as four full novels.

My grandmother lived from 1889-1978. My mother is the last of her six children born over a twenty-one year period. My grandfather died before I was born and my grandmother lived a very humble existence in a number of small apartments in a little town in Pennsylvania. I knew she was a writer and I read one or two of the handwritten novels as a teenager. I was fairly young when she died and she lived 100 miles away, so I didn't know her as well as I wished I had.

I sat down on a summer day and read page after page of her precise handwriting (and some pages typed by someone else because she did not have a typewriter) and suddenly I felt so close to her. When giving me the boxes my cousin said "You're the writer in the family, you will take care of these." Well, she was right about that. I treasure them. I learned from them and I was truly impressed by her ideas and her writing talent. She must have worked so hard on those never-to-be published novels. I complain about revising my writing, but try to imagine revising an entire novel several times by hand!

So this gift unexpectedly landed in my possession and I am very grateful for the chance to know my grandmother all over again, as an adult and a fellow writer. The photo is from the day I sorted out the manuscripts that had become a little disorganized in the boxes. I will share some of her writing soon.

Coexist X - Constitution Day

September 17th is Constitution Day.

This is not a political blog and it is not a religious blog, but as I wrote on August 31, we cannot always separate our beliefs into easy categories. I am a Christian. Why am I a Christian? Well, one factor would be that I was born into it. By heritage and birth I am a Christian and therefore I believe that was in God's plan for me (and at some point I also made a choice to be a Christian). If I had been born into a Jewish or Muslim home it is much more likely that I would choose those religions.

The truth is - we all think we are right. Every religion thinks it is the right one. Every political party thinks it is the right one. If we possess any logic at all we can plainly see that this is a conundrum. Some political arguments tout the notion that this country was founded on Christian principles and beliefs and therefore our elected officials must align themselves to those beliefs - WRONG!

Do you know:

*Our nation was founded as a secular government, based on the authority of "We the people", not a god, king or dictator.

*The words God or Jesus do not appear in the US Constitution or the Declaration of Independence.

*The US Constitution guarantees religious liberty for all religions, atheists and agnostics.

*A US treaty signed by President Adams states: "...the government of the United States is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion..."

*"In God We Trust" has only been on US currency since 1957.

*The phrase "under God" has only been in the Pledge of Allegiance since 1954.

*US Presidents are not required to put their hand on the Bible and say"so help me God."

So, as much as some of us would like to think that America is a Christian nation and it well should be because we know we are right - the facts show us otherwise. As Americans we are called to COEXIST together. We are the melting pot of religions, cultures, races, orientations, and beliefs. This protects us from totalitarianism, authoritarianism, anarchy, dictatorships and other forms of chaos - if we can just coexist.

Hurricane Ike Hits Ohio

A hurricane in Ohio? Last night Ol' Ike got all the way to northeastern Ohio. Wind gusts up to 78 MPH. It was scary! Of course, we lost power as we always do during a storm - so now we have a generator. I just spent an hour picking up branches and twigs from the yard and there are plenty I missed. It's a mess. I saw at least a dozen large trees down on the way to work and power is still out in some areas. It's just strange to think that a storm could travel so far. If it was scary here I can't imagine what it was like in the south. I heard the eerie crackling of a tree breaking in half last night. Luckily it was in the woods on the edge of, but not on our property. The bad thing is that it will probably remain that way.

A few years ago during a storm I saw a GIANT turtle waddle down our river-like driveway. I was home alone and tried to take a picture, but it was raining too hard and it didn't turn out. My husband constantly teases me that I was exaggerating or I didn't really see it (but I did). Last night he said he thought he saw it as well. I said - if it's there in the morning I'll take a picture - and it was. Ha-Ha-Ha.
Sorry for the less-than-inspiring posts lately. I've been finalizing my poetry collection, getting over a cold, spending time with beautiful daughter and nursing afterschool-headaches. Bear with me!

Music: Libera Me

Songs are waking me in the night
in swollen crescendo until my eyelids flap open
with words - their relentless codas, their meanings
transforming my dreams to music,
and my heart to sonorous beats of rhythm.
I cannot abandon this oracle, but wait
to hear its conclusion. I am moved to ovation
and new music enters - notes, sounds, lyrics,
surrounding my bed in a luminous corona.
I am inexorably caught up in the spontaneous gift
and am powerless to cease its intrusion into my rest.
I love and obey the song's presence
and await the diminuendo to sleep again.

Daylight brings the torrid, angry, crashing piano
fulfilling my need to cry, to understand.
Verdi comes at twilight: kyrie, kyrie eleison.
It is better to know and love it all as
the world opens up in lyrical and tonal diversity.
At nightfall libera me, salva me from that
which I cannot comprehend.
The gift, the rush, the orgasmic pleasure
of the counterpoint, and the chaotic, shattering climax.
The foreign language now holds my prayer.
The requiem overpowers me
and brings me
to my knees.
I await the
dies irae.
I pray:
agnus dei
libera me, salva me,
libera me.

Food as Art

Last weekend we went to Cleveland's West Side Market. I have to admit that food does not interest me very much. I am not a cook and when all the ladies are talking about recipes and new flavors I'm left out of the conversation. I hate going to the grocery store, but my husband thinks it's an adventure. I wish this wasn't so, but hey, you can't be fascinated with and good at everything, right?

But the West Side Market is an adventure. Cleveland's is the oldest operating indoor/outdoor market space originating in 1840, and it is on the National Register of Historic Places. The indoor concourse has 100 stalls and the outdoor has 85. The current Neo-Classical Byzantine style building was finished in 1912. It has a large clocktower and a view of downtown Cleveland.

It was fun to go from stall to stall picking beautiful fruits and vegetables. The stacks of God's colorful bounty looked like works of art. We left loaded down with more than we needed and ate very healthy all week!

September 11

it snowed paper
it rained blood and tears
it ushered in a united pain
then we heard screaming
and our songs
we saw flags
and an altered skyline
we inhaled dust and fear
we touched a future
veiled in smoke and war
we loved our freedom and comfort
we saw it collapse before
our eyes

Add to the Beauty

I often find myself wondering why I write poems, why I write at all. Today, in the glow of knowing that someone else finds my poems publishable I ask myself again, why? I think we all desire to add something to the world, to create something, to leave something behind. When you are a parent you know that your love and efforts have added brand new people to the world, full of hope and potential. But many of the things we do add to the beauty. We take God's earthly gifts and turn them into something others can enjoy. If you like to cook you do that with the bounty of the earth. If you sew or knit, you take a piece of cloth or a skein of yarn and turn it into something new and useful. If you sing or play an instrument you use the talent God gave you to make music. If you have a flair for decorating you may create a beautiful home to invite others into.

There is a singer I enjoy named Sara Groves. These are the lyrics to her song Add to the Beauty:

We come with beautiful secrets.

We come with purpose written on our heart, written on our souls.

We come to every new morning with possibilities only we can hold.

Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces,

calling out the best of who we are.

I want to add to the beauty, to tell a better story

I want to shine with the light that's burning up inside.

It comes in small inspirations.

It brings redemption to life and work, to our lives and our work.

It comes in loving community.

It comes in helping a soul find its worth.

This is grace - an invitation to be beautiful.

And I want to add to the beauty. . . .

And today while listening to her CD on the way home in the car - this song: It Might Be Hope

You do your work the best you can.

You put one foot in front of the other.

Life comes in waves and makes its demands

You hold on as well as you're able.

You've been here for a long time.

Hope has a way of turning its face to you

just when you least expect it.

You walk in a room, you look out a window

and something there leaves you breathless

You say to yourself - it's been a long while since I felt this -

But it feels like it might be HOPE.

That's how I feel today. Thanks for all your well-wishes. To answer a question - a chapbook is a paperback, stapled book of about 26 poems. It is considered a first big breakthrough for a poet.

I'm Pinching Myself

This morning I had a few minutes before leaving for work and sat down to check email. I opened up a message and literally sat there staring at it for several minutes before it sunk in. A literary press is publishing my poetry collection!!!!!!!!!!! It will be in the form of a chapbook. It is a place that I have repeatedly submitted to because I just had a gut feeling that it was the right place for my work. I'm SO glad they agreed! I've spent years putting together collections and years wondering if I was wasting my time. The validation is sweet. I will let you all know when it is published and in my waiting hands. Thank you Lord!

A Woman I Cannot RelateTo

If nothing else, Sarah Palin has stirred up the decades-old question of whether a woman can "have it all". First, let me say that I am not judging her - but trying to relate to her as a woman, which I think is reasonable. Second, I will say that I certainly have nothing against working mothers. I was one - albeit reluctantly, and I think I did a pretty good job of the balancing act. I am still grateful that I established a career before having children, and I don't think the job of staying home is any easier than of working - they both take patience and dedication.

A woman having presidential ambitions certainly does not surprise me either. A woman wanting to be vice-president with a four-month old baby does. There, I said it.

I think back to the days of having an infant and all I can recall is that infant - nothing else. The baby was all-consuming and all I needed. I indeed, thought I had it all in those precious first years of their lives. Granted, I only did it twice - maybe the thrill and the all-consuming part wears off by the fifth one - I don't know.

I also need to insert here that I do not have any doubts that fathers are capable of raising children and that they are certainly as necessary to bringing up healthy, happy kids. Maybe that's Sarah's deal. But I can't get away from the fact that the baby is four months old! At that age, my children weren't more than a few yards away from one of my breasts at any given time.

Here's the other glitch - this child has Down's Syndrome. I have to be honest and tell you that my very first thought was - why are you having a baby when you're 44 years old? Of course, I know that these things can happen accidently to any of us - coincidently to her teenage daughter as well - I'm wondering if they can't get birth control up in Alaska ? But I digress.

If I was 44 and knew I was having a Down's Syndrome child I would definitely have the child, as most women would. But I would also know that this child would need even more of his parents dedication and attention. If you've ever known a family with a Down's Syndrome child I'm sure you understand. It's a great PRO-LIFE statement to have a disabled child, but it doesn't mean as much unless you hang around to raise it . (Okay, now I 'm just being mean, right?)

What does "having it all" mean? Why do we need to have it all in the first place? Is there something we need to prove? I think most women make hard choices and set priorities about family and career and most are satisfied with their decisions. You choose what is right for you, not someone else. So I am not saying that Sarah Palin cannot be a good mother and hold the second highest position in our government, which always includes the possiblity of moving up to the most important, but as for me, I just can't relate to that.

Cleveland Rocks

I promised to write a few posts about some of the attributes of Cleveland and I know you have all been holding your breath for it. I already wrote about the astounding Cleveland Orchestra and Severance Hall. (see April 11) And I wrote about the spectacular reopened galleries at the Cleveland Art Museum. ( see August 14)

Did you ever wonder why the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is in little ol' Cleveland? A Cleveland disk jockey, Alan Freed is credited with coining the term and Cleveland is the location of the first"rock n' roll" concert. Hence, Cleveland rocks! (As you may remember was sung at the opening of Drew Carey's show) I don't know about other cities but Cleveland has many, many small concert venues and clubs, including two on the Cuyahoga River and Blossom Music Center in nearby Cuyahoga Falls- so we continue to attempt to rock.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame opened in 1995 in the redeveloped Northcoast Harbor area on the shores of Lake Erie. It was designed by Chinese architect I.M Pei. It has been a source of controversy why the the annual induction ceremonies are held in New York City - but apparently beginning in 2009 Cleveland will be blessed with the induction party every few years.

After one of my posts someone from another city left this comment - We spent a day in Cleveland a few years ago and took in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was right on the lake and so beautiful. Just that day a number of "tall ships" were coming in for a weekend exhibit and it was really quite incredible.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - For the Birds

Oh, give the birds a resting place

in your private silhouette.

Surrounded in peachy-pink dusk,

formidable in the sunset.

Oh, give the birds a refuge

to tuck a head under a wing.

In your long and sturdy arms

they'll awaken again to sing.

To see more Skywatch visit http://skyley.blogspot.com

What's Your Heaven?

It's come to my attention that some people believe that our dear departed loved ones are up in heaven looking down on us, pecking at our window as a little bird, even moving our car keys as a heavenly practical joke. If this is true I would like to give my grandparents a day in heaven they will never forget - the shock of thier eternity - something to chat about while they're up there polishing their wings.

First I will dye my hair red so they won't be sure if it's really me. I'll throw all my recyclables in the trash and then get in the SUV. I'll drive without my seat belt on in an unknown direction until I'm lost (without consulting Mapquest first) I'll just be hoping that one of them will lead me safely home. If they don't come through I'll have to use my cell phone.

When I finally get home I'll get on the Internet and post a rumor that Brad and Angelina are breaking up and that their babies aren't even that cute. After that I'll go in the kitchen and put something metal in the microwave just to see it spark like hell. I'll watch a whole season of Project Runway that I Tivo'd while eating microwave popcorn instead of walking on my treadmill and then. . . . well, now that I think of it - if my grandparents care or even KNOW about any of these things well. . . they're definitely NOT in heaven.

PS - I hope some of you can take a joke :)

My Sincere Appreciation

I just have to say thank you to all the wonderful, thoughtful, and generous comments you've sent my way recently. I appreciate every single word. I just wanted you to know that even though I may not write you a profound response - with school starting up along with everything else I don't have as much blogging time, but I do LOVE you all!!! Please feel free to share my blog with others - I'd appreciate that too. You are all great.

Easter in September

Okay all you real gardeners out there - is it normal to have an Easter lily blooming in September? Or is it just there to remind me that every morning is an Easter morning? (I think it looks especially nice next to my dead shrub . . . an Easter resurrection probably will not be occuring for the poor little shrub.)

You'll Never Walk Alone

Today is the 43rd telethon for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Jerry Lewis helped to establish this organization in 1952 and has been hosting the telethons since 1966. His efforts have raised approximately $2 billion for neuromuscular patient care and research. The International Fire Fighters are the largest single sponsor of MDA since 1954 raising over $250 million. At the end of the telethon Jerry Lewis will sing this beautiful song by Rogers and Hammerstein:

When you walk through a storm keep your head up high

And don't be afraid of the dark.

At the end of the storm is a golden sky

and the sweet silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
and you'll never walk alone.

Coexist IX - My Changing World Views

In the mere process of living my world views have changed. There has not been one person, book or event, but all the experiences in my life that have led me to move past the thinking of my youth. Even though in America we have a law dividing church and state, in our hearts I do not think we can separate our spiritual beliefs from our politics. Both have changed for me in some ways. I am a Christian and yet I do not align myself with conservative Christian right-wing politics. It does not make sense to me any longer.

My blogging friend Ruth, (check it out) often bravely and honestly writes about questions of faith. This week she wrote eloqently about the fact that over the years she has adopted a more liberal viewpoint. She has struggled with some of the contradictions of the Bible and in the Christian faith, (as we all have) but she cannot let go of the divinity of Jesus - and neither do I. Ruth gave me the impetus to finally put my thoughts in writing on this blog.

When I was a young mother I had some friends that were into the Gospel according to James Dobson and Pat Robertson. I found myself on that road until one October when I almost became convinced that Halloween was the work of the Devil and I should not allow my children to participate. I had so many wonderful Halloween memories and I woke up to how I was being influenced. Some "Christians" appear to spread more hatred than love and can take the joy out of living. I wanted to raise my children as Christians, but not a Christianity that was about all the things we cannot do and the people we should not associate with. I wanted them to live in the real word, with faith.

I named this blog COEXIST because that word is the answer to all the problems in the world. There are hundreds of races, nationalities, religions and languages. Human beings look different, have different cultures, sexual orientation and religions - and yet we still want everyone to be the same, think the same, believe the same, have the same skin color, the same kind of family life we have. We still think, in fact, that there is one right way. There is no right way, no right political party or candidate.

I work in a multicultural city and school district. I have had to learn to coexist with children and parents who have lives I cannot relate to, nor do they understand mine. We do not communicate in the same way and we do not have the same values, but we must work together for the children.

I have come to know and admire some gay men. A defining moment for me was when my friend looked me in the eye and said, "No one would choose to be gay. It's a miracle I survived high school." There have always been gay people and there always will be. So if a political platform does not allow my friends the same human rights as the rest of us , I cannot go along with that. (I'll save the rest of that argument for another time).

I do not personally believe in abortion, but I do believe that decision is between a woman and her God. If some people want to worry about the value of human life maybe they should worry about the young men and women dying in Iraq or the black children dying on our city streets from gunfire. Are their lives less valuable?

As an educator I have suffered, along with all the American students and teachers, the punishing requirements of No Child Left Behind. The intent may have been honorable, but when dedicated teachers and administrators country-wide began shouting out the law's faults we should have been listened to. And no, school vouchers and school choice is not the answer. All NCLB has done is taken money and resources away from the public schools, instead of funding them say, like we fund the war in Iraq. If we had a fraction of that money we could turn out kids as smart as the Chinese and all our kids would have the same opportunities. Again, NCLB was written on the basis that ALL kids learn at the same rate and have the same abilities and opportunities. That, my friends, will never be. This is America - when will a President come along that actually assures equal education for all American children?

Christianity should not be in the business of exclusion, but inclusion as Jesus demonstrated over and over. Christians should not be in the business of being God, but of worshipping God. A lot of my views now come from the belief that God is the only judge, not me, not a political party, not a Presidential candidate. This releases me from the burden of judgment and anger at others whose lives are unlike mine or who make decisions I would not make. While we are down here fighting over land and how others should live, God is still in His heaven. He is still the only judge. His opinion is the only one that matters. I can rest in that.

I read Obama's book and I listened to his speech and I agreed with just about everything he said, but I'm not too excited. He is one person. Neither he or McCain can make all the changes that this country needs. Neither one will keep all their promises. The only thing I can do besides vote is be the kind of person that makes a positive impact on my tiny little place in this world. I can sit around bemoaning the fact that others don't agree with me, aren't voting for the same candidate as me, don't believe in the things that I do - but then I'd just be wasting away my own life wouldn't I?

Friday Fotos

This is a photo I just took while walking by our lovely wine cabinet/my husband's junk table (it actually is quite tidy right now). I did not move anything or set this up, but there appears to be five, count them five, pairs of reading glasses - all his. As we always say when we can't find our $.88 "cheaters" - getting old sucks!

I call this one - Beauty and the Beast. It's really the lovely Olivia and Gambit at a recent picnic.

Equal but Not the Same

I believe all living things are created by God, and therefore have inherent and equal value. In my job as a special education teacher I have been an advocate of children who are "different." I am sure that they are just as precious to their parents as non-disabled children and hopefully treated as such in the public schools. Laws like the Americans With Disabilities Act have promoted that notion - allowing handicapped people equal access to public places. There is a law that states that all children are entitled to a free appropriate public education in America.

Recently Ohio adopted a "value-added" formula to measure students' growth on mandatory statewide tests (created by another law called No Child Left Behind). Value-added tracks whether a year's worth of learning is actually happening in the course of a year - regardless of whether the child passes the test at the end of the year. Hurray! Someone finally sat at a desk in Columbus and said - maybe all kids don't learn the same way at the same speed. DUH!

I think this is a step forward, but not an answer to yearly high-stakes tests for our public school students. Value-added has only been adopted in Pennsylvania, Tennessee and North Carolina in addition to Ohio. Really? In 2008 we've only come this far in understanding the realities of children and education today?

What should count is that a child has learned and grown academically each year regardless of whether he started kindergarten not knowing his last name or colors or shapes, or whether he was already reading at a first grade level. The problem for me is that my special needs students are often not equipped to learn a year's worth of anything in a year. They learn more slowly and at their own rate, so even though this idea is better it still seems punishing to them.

Does anyone really think that we are all the same? That all 10 year-olds for example, can and should understand algebraic concepts - or would be okay if they learned those abstract concepts when they are 14 years-old, when the brain is more developed - oops, they are failures already!

It is the same with some "politically correctness" I've recently had conversations about. Here are some examples:

Soccer teams playing against each other for years, but there are no scores and no losers, they are all winners. (do they really think the kids can't count goals?)

All-star baseball cancelled in one nearby suburb because the kids who didn't make it might feel bad. Unfortunately the kids who worked hard all season to earn it were the ones to feel bad.

End-of-the-year awards ceremonies in elementary schools where ALL the students get awards regardless of their achievement or behavior. ( and the point is?)

Lunch aides in an elementary building now being called "lunch teachers". I know they have a tough job and they certainly deserve respect - but I doubt if any of them spent years working on a Master's degree in education as the rest of us were required to do.

Does any of this seem strange to you or am I just a meanie?

In testing we expect all the students to be the same, and in real life the differences, the strengths and weaknesses they exhibit are to be ignored. What are we teaching them about life? They deserve anything the next guy has whether they worked for it or not?

And how is this fair to those who have put in the blood, sweat and tears?

There is only one possible exception to this argument for me and that is public education. I believe in America all children should have access to an excellent education no matter where their parents live or what the property taxes. (Ohio's school funding was ruled unconstitutional over a dozen years ago and nothing has been done to change it). The argument, not unlike my own, is that the parents worked hard to move into a good school district. But I say, if you worked hard to give your children certain privileges that only money can buy, they are still going to benefit through travel and experiences that many poor children never have. Why should kids suffer in school every day because their parents haven't achieved enough? This is America , isn't it?

Sorry for the rant and I'm not sure if I kept my thoughts clear, but you get the idea.

Tired Tuesday

For teachers the first day of school is chaotic and exciting. It's such an important day for students. Hopefully we do not convey the exhaustion we often feel the first week of school. The first day for teachers is filled with a pep rally of speeches, tons of data and challenges presented for the new year.

Today I began the new year at my elementary school AND at the middle school across the way (my new assignment). I have to say I enjoyed seeing a lot of my fifth graders from last year - but I was not much help navigating the maze of hallways or opening lockers (right-left-right).

My body's tired from running up and down stairs and between buildings and my brain is drained of anything clever to regale you with today - so I'll just say - give me a day or two to adjust to the summer being over (I know all you 12 month workers have your tiny violins out right now - but c'mon - have a heart!)

Coexist IX - Children

I wonder if my early thoughts of COEXIST started in college as I studied to be a teacher. I painted this back then, and I think it expressed my feelings about the innocence of children and their ability to coexist before the world teaches them differently. This painting has been hanging in the school office ever since I brought it in for a quick-and-easy bulletin board many years ago and the principal said it was staying put. Few people even know I did it since it has my former name. It's very interesting that the particular school I have worked at for thirteen years is very multicultural in a community that prides itself on its diversity.

Have you ever gone to a playground and watched preschoolers? They seem to innately know how to coexist. They often begin to play together without any introductions or hesitations. They are much more interested in the work of playing then in judging who they are playing with. Of course, later in elementary school, relationships are formed and the complications that can arise from them on the playground, but I believe we are born with the ability and tendency to want to live peacefully. Living in a volatile and unpredictable world changes that somewhere along the way.

So, as I start a new school year tomorrow I hope and pray for peaceful coexistence - for us all.

My Living Will

Last night my friend and I were sitting in the living room while I was blogging and I said to her, "I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens just pull the plug."

She got up, unplugged my computer and threw away my wine.

August 2008

Vein splitting, heart slapping,
life rolled you through the wringer.
You came out flat only to puff yourself up again,
get three dimensional, so God
could save you from the shredder.
One time you had it all -
the bills were paid, the house was clean,
the dog stopped peeing on the carpet.
You had love, sex, a roof, a bed.
You had food, car insurance, tickets to a show
- you had it all.
Then it was the children, misstepping,
out of place, and your sleepless nights
erupted into a new era of anxiety.
But your choices were not theirs,
your faith was not theirs, some of your words
fell out of your mouth and landed
with a thud at their feet.
They didn't notice your great, good example,
your ducks in a row perched on the mantle.
They wanted all the fun and life experiences
you never had - and you wanted that for them too.
So you waited and prayed,
kicked faith into high gear
because you never really had it all,
you just had faith.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY

The soft blue sky never did melt

Into his heart, he never felt

The witchery of the soft blue sky.

William Wordsworth

Daughter

My daughter is back - safe and sound and happy. She has made womanly wise and brave decisions and I am so proud of her. I told her the blogging friends were praying and she said she felt all the angels surrounding her the whole way home. Thank you.

New Beginnings

I am presently preparing my psyche to go back to work and a new school year with new students and new challenges. ( No more playing around on blogs all day). At the same time my beloved daughter is making huge, and I believe, positive changes in her life. I don't usually share deeply personal things on this blog - but I ask for your prayers as she drives a truck with all her belongings from New York City back to Ohio tomorrow by herself. She will be exhausted in more ways than one, so I'm the worried mom. But I do have faith in her strength and in her decisions. And she wants to do this on her own and I respect that.

I have the confidence to ask this because I was thinking of all of you blogging buddies this morning. I accidently deleted my list of "Beautiful Bloggers" and had to reenter everyone's title and blog address. I thought about all the encouraging comments and caring words from so many of you. This blogging thing is quite a phenomenon to me. Something I never even heard of a few years ago. As I thought about my daughter and about all of you - I knew I could count on you to pray for her.

If you are not on my list of links and would like to be, please let me know. Likewise, if I'm not on yours - let's trade links. I may be caught up in all the changes in the next few days, but I will try to keep you posted. Thanks.

Chocolate

I think I'm still recovering from the last two weekends and I have nothing profound in my brain today.

All summer I was trying to lose a few pounds and I was a really "good girl." I counted those points and resisted picnic fare and got up at 6:45 a.m. to walk most days. Alas, I lost a few, plateaued for two weeks and then got discouraged and gave up. Last week I bought a bag of assorted chocolates for the reunion. I had not had any goodies all summer, except for dessert on our anniversary. (Sadly, we haven't even gone out for ice cream this summer! Such sacrifice.)

I did not serve the chocolates and found them the following week. I proceeded to eat every mini-Reese's cup in the bag. My husband looked in the bag that was cleverly hidden in the freezer and said, "You ate all the Reese's!" "Yes, I did." I replied without shame.

Now I am on a mini-chocolate binge. After a virtuous dieting summer - I NEED IT NOW! (However, a binge to me is just a little each day.)

The good news is that chocolate is reeeaaallly good for you. Really! It contains flavenoids, a type of polyphenal antioxident. It has 8 times more than strawberries! You may also reap benefits in your blood pressure and HDL cholesterol (the good stuff).

Cocoa powder is the highest with dark chocolate and milk chocolate coming in second and third. There is a little bad news though - fat, sugar and calories. Oh well. Sometimes you just gotta splurge.

Muscular Dystrophy Fundraiser - A Bocce Tournament

Yesterday my husband and I put on our sixth annual Bocce Tournament to raise money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. A couple years after we moved into our house my husband said he wanted to build a regulation 80' limestone bocce court in our backyard.(see photo - before the bocce-loving throngs arrived) I'm not sure I even knew what bocce was until I fell in love with this Italian. But that's what we have in our backyard and it's provided a lot of fun for friends and family because it's a game anyone can play. The tournament has 32 teams and generally lasts around nine hours. Probably 100+ people visit our backyard during that time. We have a raffle with great donated prizes such as tickets for Major and Minor League teams, gift cards to many area restaurants, signed footballs from the Browns etc. My husband works for many weeks to make this fundraiser a success and thanks to our generous friends and family - it always is. Those people alone bring in over $4000 every year. The winners receive a coveted trophy and their name engraved on a plaque.

Then on Labor Day weekend my husband and stepson, who has Duchenne's muscular dystrophy, proudly present the check at the local station televising Jerry Lewis's Labor Day Telethon. The MDA telethon has been televised and hosted by Jerry Lewis since 1966, but Jerry has been working for and raising money for MDA since 1952. Before he became ill several years ago he would host the entire 22 hour telethon non-stop. Now he comes in at intervals and always, at the end, sings a tearful version of "You'll Never Walk Alone."

If you are not aware, there are 40 different neuro-muscular diseases that can each devastate victims and families. My friend Jacquie, who passed away in March had MD. The most famous person was Lou Gehrig, the New York Yankee for whom amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) is named after.

Muscular dystrophy is not to be confused with Multiple Sclerosis, which strangely enough, two of my family members also have now.

Anyway - it's wonderful, inspiring day and boy - ARE WE TIRED!!!

Noah: The Eve of the Deluge

Here is the painting I described yesterday. For some reason I couldn't locate it before. Click to enlarge! Enjoy - but of course, it's better to see it in person.

(Cleveland's only newspaper must be checking up on me! They have asked me to credit the photos to Lisa DeJong - I got them on Google images - and include this link http://cleveland.com/cma/reopen)

The Cleveland Museum of Art

Cleveland has had a bad reputation since the 1970's when a few unfortunate and embarrassing events happened here and it became the butt of jokes for all comedians. But Cleveland (outside of the beleaguered public schools) is really an amazing city. In the next few weeks I am going to be a small but opinionated cheerleader for this city. I can't see anything that any other city has that we don't. Today I am touting the Cleveland Museum of Art, which has long been considered one of the greatest and most well-endowed art museums in the country. Our beloved museum closed three years ago for a $350 million renovation and expansion. We've missed it! But in July they reopened 19 galleries in the 1916 portion of the museum. By 2012 the renovation will be complete with two new wings added on.

I was able to visit the newly beautified galleries last week. The colorfully painted walls, the improved positioning and groupings of the paintings, and the gorgeous lighting from skylights made some of the galleries breathtaking to walk into. There were two highlights for me. The first was a room full of enormous paintings by Charles Meynier, of mythological figures such as Cupid and Psyche.(above)

The second was seeing one of my all-time favorite paintings highlighted on a freestanding wall all its own, instead of being stuck in a dark corner as it once was. The painting is called Noah: The Eve of the Deluge. When you first walk up to this painting it looks like a hillside with a dramatic, stormy sky in the background. But on a closer look you see a family in the foreground. A woman appears to be crying on a man's shoulder.(I would be too) Then you see in the distance multitudes of animals climbing the hill to enter the ark. Then you notice hundreds of birds filling the dark sky and descending on the ark as well. The more you look the more you see. The whole thing is ominous in its depiction.

So that's a very brief moment in visiting our museum, but if you're ever near Cleveland, believe me, it's worth seeing! You can click on the photos to enlarge - get a look at Cupid's face.

The Race

When were you a wild horse
racing across my plains,
your spirit untethered,
your limbs loose and long?

Why did you splice yourself
into the stultified world
and sew your edited shirts
back together in conformity?

What made you begin
to hate what you loved,
to unfinish what you started
and dig that moat around your art?

Where did you gallop to,
your white mane stark against the gray,
tattoos bleeding off your skin,
your tender ankle bones almost broken?

Who will wait out the race,
polish your new shoes, cling
to your soft sides, caress your face
like a mother with a lifted heart?

Coexist VIII - The Olympics

Watching the opening ceremonies of the Olympics Friday night gave me a warm, fuzzy COEXIST feeling. If the world can put differences aside, overcome language and cultural barriers, and let go of political convictions to play games together - the obvious question is why we can't do that all of the time. Why can't it be a way of life? This way seems like a lot more fun, and to top it off, all the losers are good sports about it too!

The Olympic rings were designed to represent the five major regions of the world. The creator, Coubertin, intended for the linked rings to show the deep significance of the union between all humans. At least one of the five colors, which are blue, yellow, black, green and red, are in every country's flag.

The Olympic Creed - The most important thing in the Olympic games is not to win, but to take part. Just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered, but to have fought well.

A Family Reunion

This was the twelfth year we've hosted the family reunion at our house. Some relatives are no longer with us, little children are now teenagers, and for the most part we only see each other once a year. But that's a good thing. I say that because I really believe in traditions, even if they are just once a year. The older we get we all realize how quickly a year passes, and if we didn't have these traditions I'm sure that much more than a year would pass before we carved out the time to see each other again. In my immediate family we still celebrate everyone's birthday. Of course, it's not the presents and the cake and ice cream that is important anymore - it's a reason to set aside time in our lives to see each other.

This year we had 40 family members from 8 states! They all are so appreciative of us having the reunion at our house, but I am appreciative that so many of my cousins travel across the states to get here! It's an effort for all of us. The day goes SO fast! In all of these 12 years we've never had a rainy day. Yesterday was a beautiful day, about 75 degrees. At around 8:00 we had a fire going, marshmallows, Hershey bars and graham crackers out for S'Mores and suddenly the wind kicked up - plates, napkins and tablecloths went flying across the yard and the heavens opened! Everyone grabbed as much stuff as they could carry and ran into every door of the house. Luckily, no one left and we continued the party indoors for another two hours.

Today, an August day in the midwest - it is cold and rainy! So we were lucky! But we weren't just blessed by the weather, but by being a family - and being together.

Fire in the Sky

This weekend I am hosting a family reunion for about 35-40 relatives on my mother's side coming from 7 states. I'm kind of busy and distracted so I am re-posting a poem I wrote about the experience of visiting all my wonderful cousins as a child. "Fire in the Sky" was originally published by Poet Lore in 2007.

The trip from one industrial city to another
took two hours, but as a child, it seemed like forever.
We knew we were getting close to our cousins
when the shallow Ohio hills evolved
into Pennsylvania mountains and out of the
car window there were clusters of railroad tracks,
twisting, converging in a massive puzzle.

We followed the Ohio River, wide and
forbidding into the tiny town that sat
across from the inhospitable steel mills.
In the summer, the dirt falling from
the sky collected in gutters and grew weeds
and grass there, and in the winter it blackened
the snow before it touched the earth.

The surrounding sky was perpetually sallow;
neutral from the belching towers
of fire and foul smelling smog.
The filth from the smokestacks brought
a paycheck to its workers, but caused children
to come in from playing with black hands and
feet and begrimed faces and clothes.

At night I would leave whatever bed I was
sharing with one of two cousins to see
the sky that was lit up orange with the angry
fire that discharged from the mills all night long,
and listen to the howl of the trains
and wonder how anyone could sleep
with all this beauty and brilliance outside,

the view at once forbidding and
inviting to innocent eyes.
The flagrant polluting of the earth
was eventually halted and the mills torn down.
The fiery combustive sky dissolved, the jobs lost,
the houses sandblasted of their scorching,
the heavens clarified and colorful,
and the children were clean.