I had several insights while cleaning, slicing and freezing/putting up two boxes of Brigham City peaches.
Grandma Liked Bruised Fruit — 19:50 p.m.
Grandma taught me that/
even the bruised parts of fruit/
are juicy. I’m glad!
Fighting Gender Stereotypes: Putting Up Peaches for ME — 20:00 p.m.
When I’m putting up/
peaches why do women think/
my Mom asked me to?
Waste Not Bruised Peaches — 21:07 p.m.
Several peaches were/
bruised. I ate them all. Waste not…./
The night will be long.
Who needs a lover,
a warm bed mate to snuggle,
when you have a dog?
I confess.
I don’t know how.
I know how to take troubled youths
and mold them into a fun-loving, happy,
“Did you have fun?” “YEAH!” team.
I know how to take eager young minds
and show them things in nature
their parents and teachers can’t see.
To teach them the balance between all things.
To help them help the world heal.
I know how to take young men and young women
into the wilderness,
how to prepare their wood so well
that it only takes one match
to keep them warm
and cook their food.
I know how to take illiterate folk
who for decades have claimed they
can’t write,
and have them create verse and prose
so moving
they can’t believe
the words fall from their fingertips.
I know how to take senior citizens
who feel they have no value
and bring out their stories
and find their worth
and make them smile
again.
I know how to make people
laugh,
rejoice,
size the day,
observe,
be happy.
I know how to make senior citizens
and babies smile and laugh,
how to make dogs
wag their tails.
I know how to take
suburban landscapes,
dead, barren lawns,
and change them into
multi-hued gardens
of scented delight
and nourishment
and beauty.
I know how to find
ancestors long gone,
how to help others
find their roots,
how to work through
the mists and dust of centuries passed
to find themselves.
I know how to take
a stranger by the hand,
look him in the eye,
connect,
smile,
and give him hope.
I know how to observe
people,
nature,
situations,
the world
and write verse
and prose
that move people
to joy
and contemplation
and action.
I know how to stand
in front of congregations
and make them weep
with joy
because I know.
But my daughter
is dying,
because I don’t know
how to navigate
a system that does not
value any of the things
I know how to do.
A system that requires
so much paperwork
that she will be
dead
before I know
what I don’t know.
And I don’t know how
to do what I must now
do.
Citizen!
Spend your life paying taxes,
Volunteering in the community,
Coaching others children to become better citizens, team players, more healthy.
Offer your life
Working to feed and shelter the homeless,
Leading youth on wilderness trips and service projects,
Giving of your time, talents, money,
and everything you have to your church.
And when the time comes
that one of your own needs help,
because she is too old,
she doesn’t have insurance,
you make too much money,
her condition isn’t seen as a disease,
and she becomes so thin
that she falls through the cracks,
Prepare, then, oh Citizen!
to stand by
helplessly
and watch her die
and wish you could you have volunteered
and paid
and given of your time, talents,
and everything that you had
to bless her life
and keep her alive.
It doesn’t matter where the trail goes,
the kind of views we see.
Travel’s about life’s ebb and flow;
the connection of you and me.
The activities we could daily face
would pale in significance,
and become secondary in their place
to what we do in our own love’s dance.
Others may travel far and wide
to create their new experience.
But we, firmly at each other’s side,
daily grab and relish that chance.
For our souls have learned that these facts are true:
I’m your touchstone, and my destination is you.
Late Monday evening I parked at a bakery that was closing. With 3 cars in a parking lot designed for 100, I avoided the handicapped zone, but — parking quickly — did not pay attention to the parking “lines”. When I came out to my car, this note was on my windshield:
Learn how to park dumb ass.
Really?
There’s lines for a reason.
Love ya.”
So I wrote this (because it does seem that criticism and self-righteous, indignant behavior happens more often here than any place else I’ve lived. See? Even I’m guilty of being judgemental!
Why does it happen in Utah,
(at least as far as I saw),
where everyone’s supposed to love,
and be inspired by God above,
they judge and critize ev’ry tiny flaw?
What should have been a/
goo moment was turned into/
muck by poor word choice.
Labor Day is finally past,/
so I must put away, at last,/
my gaudy silk Hawaiian shirt;/
my white loafer shoes that pinch and hurt;/
for summer’s come and gone too fast.
A friend told me she/
breathed for me. Another prayed./
One researched. All loved.
I’m watching my daughter die.
She’s starving her body to death.
Why can’t I even cry?
Why can’t I barely draw a breath?
What brought her to this bleak abyss?
Does it really matter?
All I know is that she’d be missed;
My world would be much sadder.
So I’m putting aside my selfish ways,
my lack of focus and my pride.
I will spend my talents and days
in efforts to fix her dying insides.
Was I responsible for her ills? I now don’t care.
But I know I’ll be at fault if I just leave them there.