Silver Wings -- short story

Silver Wings

Silver wings shining in the sunlight…

“It’s a great opportunity.”

“But it’s so far away.”

“Just for two years.  I’ll be back.”

“Will you?”

            They were sitting on the deck of the local microbrewery. She took a long sip of her summer ale draft, staring directly at him, not even blinking.

“Of course. How long do you think an American can actually stay in South Korea?”

“Why would an American want to go there at all?”

            With that she gathered her bag, took a final sip of beer, kissed him on the cheek.

“I’ll call you later.”

Roaring engines headed somewhere in flight…

            “So why did you call?”

            “I felt like things got left a little weird.”

            “Ha!  Really?”

            “Look, we’ve been together for a long time.  But it isn’t like we’re planning on getting married. This teaching thing is something I want to try before getting married anyway.  So I really don’t get the big deal.”

            “You’re right.  No big deal.  You should do it.”

            He clicked on the red End Call button and picked the platinum diamond ring up between his fingers and rolled it around.

They’re taking you away leaving me lonely…

            Trying to explain this to his older sister was torture. She had helped him choose the ring just last week.

            “I just don’t get it.  Why didn’t you just ask her?”

            “I wanted to.  But she was so sure, so excited. And then, well, she told me it is something to do before getting married.  Just felt I didn’t have the right.”

            “The right?”

            “To take that away.”

            “Listen – she’s an idiot to choose fuckin’ South Korea over you.  And she’s over thirty, for God’s sake.  Time to stop living the fantasy life and see what’s in front of her.”

            “She likes what she does. She wants to expand…”

            “Stop defending her already.  I don’t get it. You need to man up and set her straight.  That should help her ‘expand’.”

            The server brought their food to the table.  He changed the subject.

Silver wings slowly fading out of sight.

            The ring feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket as they have their last dinner together.  She is leaving tomorrow.  She’s animated and slurping plenty of wine but not eating much.  She is anticipatory.  He is nervous and defeated all at once. When they kiss goodnight at her door, he tries hard to make the words come but they seem to have permanently lost their way to his mouth.

“Don’t leave me,” I cry

Don’t take that airplane ride…

That night he had a dream – several dreams, in fact.  In nearly every one of them a movie scene played out.  He runs to the airport with the ring and doesn’t even need to beg her to stay.  She knows the minute he arrives, and runs to his arms. This repeats itself over and over.  Each time he wakes slowly and comes to the desperate realization that it isn’t real.  Finally, he has a terrible dream where she’s kidnapped by North Korea and tortured, and needs him to be her savior. Wasn’t that a 30 Rock episode?  Anyway, the nightmare leaves him permanently awake. He gets up and shuffles around the apartment.  In a drawer he finds a card she gave him for his last birthday.  The cover is muted gold, bronze, and silver with geese in flight.  Not exactly the most romantic image he realized. Inside was different, however.  There she had signed it: “I will always only want you and only you.”

He stared at the words for a long time. Had that changed?  And if so, when?  She hadn’t said that to him for a long time.  It was a little endearment she had used over and over.  It marked their relationship.  “You and only you…”

            The words written in purple ink and the dreams gave him a new resolve.  Tomorrow he would try again.

But you locked me out of your mind

Left me standing here behind…

            Her flight should be leaving about now.  He’s on the airport grounds, in the cell lot, staring at the ring.  He had come there thinking he’d run into the airport and stop her, sweep her off her feet, like in the dream. Yet he sits, knowing he’s missed his chance, kicking himself for not manning up like my sister told him to do.  He

peers out the window, thinking somehow he’ll see her plane, see her waving goodbye out the window.  He jumps sky high when his phone rings.

            “There has been a slight delay, so I thought I’d give you a quick call because I don’t know when we will be able to talk again.  How are you?”

            She’s contrite, he notices, has a little give in her voice. He decides to use it to his advantage.

            “Truth?”

            “Truth.”

            “Torn up. Not sure what to do with myself. Missing you already. Wanting you to stay.”

            Silence

            He decides it’s time.  He’ll make the leap. Then run into the airport and find her.  It feels right for the first time.  But she breaks the silence before he has a chance.

            “Well, guess there isn’t much else to say.  I’m going to get going.”

            “Or you could stay and we could get married…”

            “What?”

            “You could stay…”  He hears noise, obviously a loudspeaker, in the background.  Yet, he can sense her hesitation.  Maybe sis was right.  This is the moment. She will see what is real. 

            “Hey, they’re calling my flight. I’m so nervous! I’ve gotta run. Are you going to be alright?”

            “Uh, yes.  I’ll be fine.  I’ll be just fine.”

Silver wings slowly fading out of sight.

#

Lyrics to "Silver Wings" copyright Merle Haggard

Merle and Jewel sing “Silver Wings”

I Have Observed I'm Ready to Start Blogging Again

Looks like I'm back from my blogging hiatus.  School has begun in earnest and tons of time and energy is going in that direction. Yet, I felt the need to check in here.

This year I am teaching purely 7th grade. This is a big change -- the last time I taught one grade level was the 2009-10 school year.  I have intensive readers and I have got to say, I am loving it.  

In the classroom we have been spending a lot of time setting up our reader and writer's notebooks.  The writer's notebooks are decorated and covered with contact paper. The students have taken complete ownership, from my observation.

And that is what this blog is about -- observation.  This summer I taught myself to slow down and pay attention, and I'm glad to say that I am remembering what I learned this summer and am continuing to apply it.

My return to writing started today when I was driving to a yoga class. I began to make mental notes on things I observed, and then wrote them down as soon as I got to my destination.

Driving to Yoga Class Labor Day 2014

The town is quiet

A dusty white pony dips his head to graze at the fence by the side of the road

Dry palm fronds sway slightly as they lean over in the late summer heat

"God bless the broken road" plays on country radio

Royal palm tree trunks create shadow stripes along MacGregor Boulevard

I miss my turn-off to my usual parking lot

The road I'm on has a farmers stand with a sign that says "Georgia Peaches"

I realize I have found a better place to park

A shady spot

The mid-morning air hangs heavy

Now some gentle movements

For balance, clarity,

And even deeper awareness

*

This is the kind of thing I started training my students to do last Friday.

I started by asking them to make observations of the classroom, and then observation of themselves. We then proceeded into a listening observation. Each time they were expected to write specific things about what they saw and heard. The listening exercise included me playing my Tibetan singing bowl. One class got into an extended conversation afterward about lucid dreams and deja vu, all brought to mind by the sound of the bowl. It so happened that by 7th period my principal was in observing my class, and she loved it, too.

Then we moved to the poem "Observer" by Naomi Shahib Nye. This poem is about observing the world. 

I watch how others things travel
to get an idea how I might move.
A cloud sweeps by silently,
gathering other clouds.
A doodlebug curls in his effort to get there.
A horse snorts before stepping forward.
A caterpillar inches across the kitchen floor.
When I carry him outside on a leaf,
I imagine someone doing that to me.
Would I scream?

In the heart of the day
nothing moves.
No one is going anywhere
or coming back.
The blue glass on the table
lets light pass through.
Something shines
but nothing moves.
I watch that too.

We picked it apart a bit as we sat in our gathering place for the lesson, and then I sent them back to their seats to think about creatures and things from nature they have observed-- how a pet snake moves, what a butterfly does, how a tree moves in the wind. During fifth period we had some tech support people come in to fix up something on the smart board. I told the students to observe them and make some notes about what they were doing. 

I think the word for how I've been operating is "emergent."  

Finally, we got to the Marty Stuart song, "Observations of a Crow."  

We listened to the song and followed along with the lyrics. Miracle upon miracle, I did not have one complaint about it being "country."  In fact, my one student, who can do a mean moonwalk, was nearly dancing along as he sang.  We talked about all the things the crow was observing, and that in his dialogue the crow made up some words. They then had to write from the perspective of the creature or a thing--what does that creature or thing observe about the human world? What does it see as it goes through its day?  They were advised to write in first person to make this come alive.

It was a relaxing and easy lesson, and got them writing and collecting ideas in their Writers Notebooks.  The students aren't writing as specifically as they need to, but we have a beginning, a foundation to get us started.  We'll see what emerges from here.

17,000 Books and a Bunch of Goats

I was not even aware of Carl Sandburg's home being in North Carolina until it was suggested as a destination for our day together with my cousin Doreen and her husband David.  The home is on a huge property in Flat Rock, North Carolina, tucked within the hills and simply stunning in its beauty.  

We arrived at "Connemara" around 2 p.m. and had to walk a mighty steep hill to get to the large white house, which overlooked a large pond.

Pondside

View from below

View from the house

One of the most interesting facts about this home, and the thing that makes it so fascinating, is that shortly after Sandburg died in 1967, his wife and daughters sold it to the United States as a historic site, taking only their personal effects with them.  Inside the home are the 17,000 books he owned, his record collection, and every stitch of furniture.  Below is a photo from his wife's office with the calendar still set at July 1967, the month he died.  His guitar is pictured below that, with a bust of a young Abraham Lincoln.  Sandberg did not just write poetry, but is known for his several volume biography of Lincoln, as well as fiction writing.

As the story goes, Sandburg and his wife lived in Michigan. But in the 1940's, they decided to move somewhere else because his wife Paula was deep into raising goats, and she wanted an environment more conducive to her goat-raising and breeding activities.  Carl could work anywhere, so they picked up and moved, taking every one of the 17,000 books with them.

The picture below is Sandberg's writing room. He propped his typewriter on an orange crate because he said, "If Grant could run his campaign from an orange crate, I can write about it on one."  His advise to writer, which we heard him say on an introductory video is "Just put one word down after another.  It is when you try to do two or three at a time that it gets difficult."

His wife's bedroom.  Doreen reflected in the mirror

Pathway to the goat barn

The house itself has a wonderful layout, and the grounds include gardens, a caretakers house, and several out buildings and barns.  There are many hiking trails which are definitely used, as we saw many people on the trails, even on a hot and sticky Carolina day.

Sandburg had a rock outcropping he often sat on to write.  That was probably my favorite place. 

 "It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness; to sit on a rock in the forest and ask of himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'...If one is not careful, one allows diversions to take up one's time -- the stuff of life."

Doreen giving perspective to the outcropping

An inspiring day

Five Days on the Road -- Photo Journey

Monday: The silvery Suwanee River in northern Florida was a beautiful sight to see. No one was around, but on the weekends this river is full of tubers, as the dozens of shops selling tubes would indicate.

Tuesday:  We were spending the night in Gulfport, so drove over to Biloxi just to check it out.  The beaches there are flat and it really appears that the water is on level with the rest of the land -- and it probably is. I had heard there was a lighthouse and when we saw it...well, we had to laugh.  It is like a toy lighthouse.  Truly do not know how anyone ever saw a light from it, but I suppose they did.  Along the E. Beach Blvd. they have a replica that is nearly the same size.  We motored down to the Hard Rock Casino and spent a little time eating nachos, drinking beer, buying some gifts and earrings, and checking out various wardrobe pieces and instruments from famous rock and roll musicians. Other note of interest:  an antique shop sign in Gulfport said it sold "Used and New Antiques" -- not quite sure what that means.  

Jim at Cafe Du Monde, waiting for beignets and coffee

Jackson Square as beautiful as ever

Wednesday: New Orleans, French Quarter.
I have been wanting to return to New Orleans ever since I was there over Thanksgiving weekend in 1979 with my friend Cathy Jones.  Back then, New Orleans was not even much of a destination.  The French Quarter had its charms, but in general the riverfront was undeveloped, with the defunct Jax Brewery building falling apart.  Cafe Du Monde -- the famous coffee and pastry shop -- overlooked the river, which bends so beautifully through the Crescent City.  When we were there in November, it rained a lot, so much of the outdoor activity was limited.

So it was much different to be in New Orleans when it was summer, when it had been through so much, when it had made so many changes, when it has become a destination in itself.  We parked and walked along the gorgeous new riverfront park.  Back in the day there was one steamboat tour -- now there are several.  The park is basically a huge dike meant to protect the city.  Once back down on street level, we visited Cafe Du Monde, which is now blocked in by the dike, but at least someone had created some beautiful art to help soften that blow.  Painters Alley was bustling and was where I found the Faulker House bookstore.  Before walking in, I heard a patron of a painter telling him, "My writing practice is haiku."  Big smile to that, as this year I have been practicing haiku as well.

The bookstore was small and stacked with books.  I discovered that Flannery O'Connor had actually wanted to be a cartoonist and a book of her cartoons was published in 2012,  I purchased a book of Blues Poems and a guide to the Blues in Mississippi, our next destination.  We also found a stone and crystal shop where I purchased Mardi Gras colored beaded earrings.  I am on the hunt for many new earrings this trip, since I am terribly bored with mine.  After making some gift purchases, we settled into the Jackson Brewery for a craft beer and to make hotel reservations for the night.  Next stop: Laurel, Mississippi, where we had a steak dinner and called it a night.  We are now seeking out markers along the Mississippi Blues Trail and Country Trail the next two days.

Painters Alley

Jackson Brewery

Poetry Interlude:  "The Blues" by James C. Morris

These are the blues:
a longing beyond control.
left on an unwelcome doorstep,
slipping in when the door is opened.

These are the blues:
a lonely woman crouched at a bar,
gulping a blaze of Scotch and rye,
using a tear for a chaser.

The blues are fears that
blossom like ragweeds
in a well-kept bed of roses.

(Nobody knows how tired I am.
And there ain't a soul who gives a damn.)

Meridian, Mississippi

Thursday:  We drove to Meridian to visit the Jimmie Rodgers museum.  The woman running the museum was full of information, shared a video, and showed us some of the most interesting items -- mainly his guitar.  No photography was allowed, so I was unable to get any pictures.  Jimmie Rodgers is considered a huge influence on blues and country artists everywhere.  His "blue yodel" was what has been imitated by blues and country artists in various incarnations throughout the years.  Jimmie had a very short career -- six years all told -- as he suffered from tuberculosis which eventually did him in.  He was very successful for his time.  After the museum, we found our first blues marker at Singing Brakeman park.

After the sites in Meridian, we drove to Philadelphia to see the Marty Stuart marker.  It is Marty's Saturday night show on FamilyNet that encouraged us to make this trip. We look forward to seeing Marty perform next Friday in Nashville.

After Philadelphia, we stopped in West Point to check out the Howlin' Wolf marker. It included a sculpture based on a photograph, and was in a park area. Very pretty this town.

Marker on Main Street Philadelphia

Most towns in Mississippi looked like this.

Howlin Wolf has always been a favorite

Believe it or not, it was still time in the day, so we made our way to Tupelo to see Elvis's birthplace.  The grounds there are simply gorgeous and features a huge visitor's center, a rather hokey movie about his life up to age 13, his childhood 2 room home, church, and even outhouse!  Elvis has both blues and country markers on the grounds.

Elvis at 13 statue.  Markers in the background.

Tupelo is a crazy town to drive around.  Even our GPS was overworked with "take this ramp" -- "merge right" -- "make a left U-Turn."  But Southern hospitality, which is a very real thing, was alive and well.

We woke the next morning to rain -- miserable, dreary, beating on the ground rain.  The temperature had dropped into the 60's and yes, seemed chilly.  The weather caused us to scale back our plans, which had included the B.B. King Interpretive Center, a seeking out of several blues and country markers in the Greenwood area, the infamous Tallahatchie bridge, as well as the three different burial places of famous blues artist Robert Johnson.  However, where we ended up made for a perfect day.

Friday: Oxford and Clarksdale, Mississippi

The rain kept our windshield wipers busy as we drove west to Oxford, the home of Ole Miss.  After so many little towns, it was quite different to be among such an elegant and academic atmosphere. We found the town square -- which boasted a blues marker of its own -- and I found my way to my destination -- Square Books.  I love independent bookstores, and this one was a beauty.

I arrived in my shorts and t-shirt, but was among people in jeans and rain jackets, most of which gave me a kind of smile. It was obvious I was an out-of-towner in a town of close knit academic types.  I even heard a store employee mention Beth Ann Fennelly, who I know is the head of the poetry masters program at Ole Miss, as I took a workshop with her at the Sanibel Island Writer's Conference. I purchased an autographed novel written by the bookstores's owner and some gifts, and then we were on our way to Clarksdale, home of the blues.

This town is loaded with markers: Wade Walton, Sam Cooke, Ike Turner.  It seemed no matter where we looked, there was another marker.  A few other blues pilgrims were in town with us, checking out the museum and the markers.  We finished off our visit with a barbecue meals at Abe's BBQ, located at the crossroads famous as being the place where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil so he could play the blues guitar like no other.  The blues guide I purchased in New Orleans takes issue with this location and, of course, the whole this is just Faustian mythology.  But it is a unique spot, and we enjoyed being part of this mythological and musical odyssey.  

Authorized spot for graffiti

Robert Johnson mural

Our main destination

Corner of Delta and Blues Alley, Clarksdale

The famous Crossroads

Friday evening we arrived in Memphis, our home for the weekend.  Our musical odyssey continues with visits to Graceland, Sun Studios, and the Rock 'n' Soul Museum.  Watch for the next update!

My Sunday Song 5/11 -- "Letting Go"

When considering a song for Mother's Day, I went through a very short list before deciding quickly on one of my favorite Suzy Bogguss songs -- "Letting Go."  (Not to be confused with "Let It Go" from Frozen.)

I have not had children of my own, but have stepchildren and for a couple of years raised the child of one of my stepsons.  It was a crazy two years, and I got a good dose of what a parent goes through.  I also remember clearly how I felt when he returned to live with his dad.  I was grief-stricken.

For that reason, this song does have resonance.  I know many of you reading this may not even have children yet.  This song defines a moment that all mothers go through, and it does it beautifully. The fact that Suzy's husband wrote it tells me he is an amazingly sensitive person.

Here are the words to "Letting Go" and below a link to a wonderful rendition Suzy does at the Grand Ole Opry.

Happy Mother's Day to all, no matter what stage of the mothering experience you are in.

Letting Go

Written by Doug Crider and Matt Rollings

She'll take the painting in the hallway,
The one she did in jr. high
And that old lamp up in the attic,
She'll need some light to study by.

She's had 18 years to get ready for this day
She should be past the tears, she cries some anyway

Oh oh letting go
There's nothing in her way now,
Oh letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting,
It's never easy letting go.

Mother sits down at the table
So many things she'd like to do
Spend more time out in the garden
Now she can get those books read too.

She's had 18 years to get ready for this day
She should be past the tears, she cries some anyway.

Oh oh letting go
There's nothing in her way now,
Oh letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting,
It's never easy letting go.

"Letting Go" live at the Grand Ole Opry

Suzy Bogguss - Letting Go Lyrics

Artist: Suzy Bogguss
Album: Miscellaneous
Genre: Country

Heyo! SONGLYRICS just got interactive. Highlight. Review: RIFF-it.
RIFF-it good.

Listen to Letting Go

Listen while you read!

She'll take the painting in the hallway
The one she did in Jr. High
That old lamp up in the attic
She'll need some light to study by

She's had 18 years
To get ready for this day
She should be past the tears
She cries some anyway

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

Mother sits down at the table
So many things she'd like to do
Spend more time out in the garden
Now she can get those books read too

She's had 18 years
To get ready for this day
She should be past the tears
But she cries some anyway

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

It's never easy letting go

Listen to Letting Go

• Writer(s): Doug Crider, Matt Rollings,

Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/suzy-bogguss/letting-go-lyrics/#fJMRFSLI3wQvxlkE.99

She'll take the painting in the hallway
The one she did in Jr. High
That old lamp up in the attic
She'll need some light to study by

She's had 18 years
To get ready for this day
She should be past the tears
She cries some anyway

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

Mother sits down at the table
So many things she'd like to do
Spend more time out in the garden
Now she can get those books read too

She's had 18 years
To get ready for this day
She should be past the tears
But she cries some anyway

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

It's never easy letting go

Send "Letting Go" Ringtone to your Mobile

• Writer(s): Doug Crider, Matt Rollings, Matthew Charles Rollings
  Copyright: Atlantic Music Corp. O.B.O. Zesty Zack'S Music, Zesty Zacks Music

Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/suzy-bogguss/letting-go-lyrics/#EROiL4qC7qkMuIKc.99

She'll take the painting in the hallway
The one she did in Jr. High
That old lamp up in the attic
She'll need some light to study by

She's had 18 years
To get ready for this day
She should be past the tears
She cries some anyway

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

Mother sits down at the table
So many things she'd like to do
Spend more time out in the garden
Now she can get those books read too

She's had 18 years
To get ready for this day
She should be past the tears
But she cries some anyway

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

Oh, oh, letting go
There's nothing in her way now
Oh, letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting
It's never easy letting go

It's never easy letting go

Send "Letting Go" Ringtone to your Mobile

• Writer(s): Doug Crider, Matt Rollings, Matthew Charles Rollings
  Copyright: Atlantic Music Corp. O.B.O. Zesty Zack'S Music, Zesty Zacks Music

Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/suzy-bogguss/letting-go-lyrics/#EROiL4qC7qkMuIKc.99

Poem: Ashes

ASHES

"If we don't have each other, we don't have anything." 

-- The Outsiders

Breathe into me and make me real
Bring me to life

(Wake me up)
Wake me up inside
(I can't wake up)
Wake me up inside
(Save me)
Call my name and save me from the dark

-Evanescence "Bring Me to Life"

I.

At the conclusion of our study

of The Outsiders, I found a YouTube video

that incorporated quotes from the book

against the background of

movie photos and Evanescence.

It was a fitting conclusion.

But we never know how music will

move people. We never know what

is on a young person's mind.  What

pain they carry in their hearts.

Soon I discovered a student crying;

not just a little, but a lot.

The song reminded her of when her

father suddenly died. She had the date

in August 2011 written on a piece of paper, 

large, in black Sharpie. She kept repeating,

"He just died" and crying, full of unremitting

grief.  She left to talk with a counselor, and 

came back shortly thereafter cheerful and

renewed.

We never know when grief will strike.

 

II.

I think it was this incident on Friday

that caused me to think of a student

from last year, one I haven't thought

about this entire school year.  Blonde,

teddy-bearish, crooked smile, blue eyed,

Tanner's handwriting reminded me of

my father's.  At one point in early fall

I thought he seemed to be carrying some

anger. I recommended the book

Touching Spirit Bear and he borrowed 

it from me, never to be seen again.

Because his house burned down.

He had been the "hero" -- waking up in 

the night and discovering that a fire in 

the attic of the garage was beginning to

spread into their home.  He got everyone 

out.  He never spoke of it in class, never

wrote about it any creative writing adventures.

Shortly after the fire, his brother survived a 

motorcycle crash.  Then Tanner

wiped out on a skateboard, knocking out

two teeth. 

The hits just kept coming.

A few days before Thanksgiving the class

was working on an assignment.  I looked up and

noticed Tanner had pulled his chair over 

near the window, with his back to me.

He was crying.  Right there in the classroom,

while the students worked, he was crying.

What sixteen-year-old boy would sit in

class and cry if not totally overwhelmed?

We never know grief will strike.

I asked him if he wanted to talk with a 

counselor.      No.

His friend Alex came over and sat with him.

When the bell rang, I told them they could stay during the 

lunch period, but they declined. Gathering their

backpacks, they walked slowly out of the room.

I watched them, two friends sauntering together down

the hallway, the grief dissipating in the width and 

length of the corridor.  

Never happened again. Nothing ever said.

Later in the school year, Tanner's dad had to get

analyzed for possible kidney dialysis. 

Alex would face his own health issues.  

Muscles not working, couldn't walk,

missed a lot of fourth quarter.  

When it rains it pours and sometimes it just doesn't seem fair.

III.

So now these young men should be graduating high school 

next month; what is left of these four years in ashes.

  I wonder if Alex can walk the stage.

I wonder how Tanner's family has healed from

all the trauma.  I wonder why it has taken me

so damn long to remember them, to think of them

and pray for their peace of mind, their happiness,

their healing of body, spirit, and mind.

It seems I have been the one needing waking up.

Because it can and will happen again.

Pain, tragedy, and trauma aren't going away.

Grief will strike.

I need to be ready.

hms

 

My Sunday Song 4/13 -- "I Wave Bye Bye"

Songwriter Jesse Winchester passed away a couple of days ago.  I have known of his songs for many years.  In the 1970's Jimmy Buffett recorded his haunting "Biloxi" and Nicolette Larson the fun "Rhumba Girl."  As an artist, we never heard Jesse on the radio but his songwriting skills were sifted throughout the singers that were popular.

Recently I came back in touch with "Biloxi" when Roseanne Cash sang her version of it on her new album.  I am intoxicated by this song; so much so, we plan on making an overnight stay in Biloxi this summer on our road trip.

I searched YouTube for a good song to represent Jesse.  Since I don't really like the video that is posted for "Biloxi" I had to nix that one. But then I ran across this video and song -- one I was not familiar with.  It reminded me how recently so many of my friends have been making Facebook posts about missing their parents who have passed.  It seems that lately there have been many -- some whose parents have recently passed, and some that made their transition many years ago.  I know that longing myself, and find this song hits all the write chords inside of me.


So here is the lovely "I Wave Bye Bye" -- written and sung by Jesse Winchester.  I have listed the words below.

"I Wave Bye Bye"

Just out in the harbour
All the ships asleep
Maybe one cold watchman
Walks the lonely beach
And way out on the water
A ship is under sail
leave a wave of star light
and a dreamer in her trail

I'll wave bye bye
I pray Godspeed
I wish lovely weather
More luck than you need
You'll only sail in circles
So there's no need to cry
No I'll see you again one day
And then I'll wave bye bye.

The sailing ship reminds me of a certain girl
Who left a certain dreamer to sail into the world
The very friendly postcard from very far away
But they just remind me of a certain day.

I'll wave bye bye
I pray Godspeed
I wish lovely weather
More luck than you need
You'll only sail in circles
So there's no need to cry
Though I'll see you again one day
Then I'll wave bye bye.
Bye bye.

Discoveries in 2 hours and 10,154 steps

I. Solid Blue Sky
I stroll through the gardens
down the path
under solid blue sky
to a new area of the park
I have not visited before.

I discover a filter marsh has been created
Wildlife abundant
Water so clear that a moorhen sitting on it
looked to be attached to her own reflection.

Dancing dragonflies
A frog announcing his presence
An anhinga angry that I dare disturb the peace
with my ASICS crunching on the crushed shell path.

When I reach the end, a prayer of gratitude.

II. noticing
white ibis
red-winged blackbirds
great blue heron
a red-shouldered hawk perched high in a pine tree
pointed out to me by an elderly biker
a woman from new york asking me if there are alligators in the water
terrified when I say, yes
it's florida.
we have gators
just don't feed them
a young little blue heron, still all white, pokes around the tall grass
a yellow rat snake crosses the path
provoking a series of "OH MY GOD"s from tourists
a woodpecker taps away in the distance
two turtles poke their heads up by the side of the pond
two grackles chase a red-tailed hawk from their nest
buzzards dot the top of a long dead tree
a pair of mottled ducks paddle slowly together across the lake.

III. Meditation
I pull up a limestone rock next to a couple of blue flag iris
They are fresh and deep purple and at the peak of perfection
Twenty minutes I meditate on the world around me
Twenty minutes, undisturbed.
A spider web in a scrubby shrub.
A lizard skirting the edge.
A blackbird nearly grazes my ear.
A Great Blue Heron majestically calls.
The solid blue sky has white puffs in it now.
I walk on.

IV.  Tonks!
I see him and I think, wow, that looks like Will.
I decide not to approach.
But then I see a woman that looks like his wife,
so I approach the man...Are you Will Tonks?
Yes, it is. Moved back from New Jersey and working
as a reading coach at Dunbar Middle School.
So good to see him.
Many memories of working in adjoining rooms
teaching 6th grade at Gateway Charter, ten years ago now
We compare notes, what we've taught, what's happening now.
Then time to move on. We'll meet again.
It is very humid and I've been walking nearly two hours.
Later, Will.

V. Alone/Not Alone
Recently someone I know posted a quote from Hunter Thompson on the Facebook feed.  It was about being born alone and dying alone -- that essentially, we are alone always.

Yet, meditating and walking today I didn't feel alone.
Even though I was alone.
The paradox we live.

Wenzi said, "The path of water is such that when it rises to the sky, it becomes raindrops; when it falls to the ground, it becomes rivers."

What is our sky?  Our raindrop?  Our ground?  Our river?

How can we ever truly be alone?

"Bluegrass & Wildflowers" -- A Celebration of the Cycles of Life

I've been uncovering all kinds of interesting pieces of writing, quotes, poems, and more today.  It is one of the benefits of having some time off -- I get to excavate the past a bit.

Meanwhile, I am feeling tremendously guilty about not having practiced my mandolin and I have a lesson coming up in less than three hours.  I have been working on some bluegrass songs (no surprise!)

Then I run across this poem I wrote while riding along I-81 through Virginia. It is dated October 9, 1995.  I couldn't stop reading it over and thinking of how appropriate it is in many ways today, December 30.

We are ending a cycle of this year of 2013, and this poem seems to speak of that and many other things that matter to me -- music, and nature, and movement, and time passing and joy....

Bluegrass & Wildflowers

The flowers along this

Virginia highway

Are purples and violets and

lavender and white

On this autumn day

Bluegrass on the stereo

Relaxed and ready

for what comes next.

The flowers on this Virginia highway

are wild and free

They multiply each year

spreading their joy.

The wildflowers on this

Virginia highway

remind me of growth and change...

expansion...

the cycles of life.

The Bluegrass music Emmylou

sings so fine

connects me to the past

in so many ways

Bluegrass was written

by people who never rode

on this Virginia highway

But they saw the wildflowers

blooming on the hill

And they knew about

growth and change...

expansion...

and the cycles of life.

Now I really do need to go practice my mandolin.  Happy New Year to everyone reading this.  May 2014 be a year of expansion and growth and a further embracing of that which may be tough and challenging or mysterious and miraculous -- like growing roses in the snow.  (Video link if missing)