Stain-glass Eyes

I find it interesting how brain and language grow together. I grieve for any culture that has had to hide their native language to survive. What that must do to the body and the brain…and the soul. I see advances in some technology slyly put a camouflage-membrane over our spoken language. I find it troubling. Most children learn language from listening, repeating and modeling after others. It’s a big chunk of brain development. Since their brains continue to grow into their late 20s, it makes me wonder the effect of less voice to the ear. A large part of my survival I have relied on my emotional intelligence. I wouldn’t be where I am without the experience of being able to listen to my siblings and parents talk to their friends, whisper in the back bedroom or talk on the single, wall phone we had.   I was exposed to quirks of language like inflections, humor, joy, fear, anger, sadness, secrecy, etc. and I studied it like a moth seeking a light, when I was young. Two parents and nin...

  Aunt Madge Cronan-Ryerse Lately, I’ve used a raft anchored out on Lake Michigan, for a much-needed metaphor. I needed something to give me a visual for my challenges and aspirations. I needed a strong one! When I was growing up my Aunt Madge had a large, wooden raft anchored out in the bay on Lake Michigan. You could see it from her picture window, (in a cabin eventually made into a house) on a sandy, grassy hill above the beach. My memory intensifies with every one of my senses. Her raft had large, red, rusting metal barrels under it to keep it afloat. A marvelous wall-less room made of large planks of wood sat above the barrels. Exposed to sun and eyes. Wooden steps led from the water. There was a sturdy anchor to keep it from being torn away by waves. When I was under the raft the barrels seemed to deflect most of the small waves. The under part felt safe to me. It was shaded from the bright summer sky while I tread in the water, hanging on. Most of my body was camouflaged and...

  A distant train…peals through the city, Splats of cold flakes suddenly fall around me. I stop in my tracks on my way home. Rush hour joins twilight With an early snake out of the city.   Bumper to bumper it vibrates. Cool, delicate, woven pieces of snow land on my face. My senses are tickled and mesmerized. The north wind is still.   I smell winter. Everything starts to vanish behind the sheets of snowfall. Muffled with a soundless cover of white. Time and train bow before this crown of snow. Puffs of joy. It’s like I’m in a forest of floating white, Sheltered among soft cushions. “In this now can you stay with me?” Snow challenges. I tilt my head back in approval.   You fall like apple blossom petals, In adagio rhythm. Moisten my tongue and my eyelids grow heavy. You fold around me, Release me from adulthood. My inner-child steps out of me and smiles. Into your cloud of snow. Together we abandon ourselves,   In a floaty-dance. “I love you, Snow! Please….stay...

During the Thanksgiving holiday, Ashley, my nephew, ended his life. I knew Ashley through my sister, Mary, his mother.   Love radiated from her in her stories about him or when I’d hear her talk to Ashley on the phone. She animated his personality through her unconditional love for him.   Mary was brought to her knees losing Ash. She lost her buddy, her son. But…. she does understand his desperation. Mary was unable to care for him when he got more and more difficult to handle and she adopted him out when he was nine, seeing no other way. Later in his life they often had daily contact by phone or texts. She let him try to make sense of his life. So many times she just listened.   She did her best to coach him and ask him questions about his ideas. Sometimes he'd blame her for his frustration. Eventually he’d apologize and reassure her, “ I love you Mom, I’m trying, I’m doing my best .”   Knowing their bond was strong and his death would be hard on her, Ashley took th...