Stain-glass Eyes

About midnight, last night, I finished a thick book by Abraham Verghese called Cutting For Stone. My sister, Karen recommended it.  It is a great book.  I marked a place about half way through the book that explored a tale from Africa.  As most tales do, it had a strong message in its telling.  I was anxious to share the story.  Also, anxious to explore what it means to me in my search for happiness.  This pivotal time in my life I have to make myself stop and think.  Stop and dwell on where my motivations are coming from.  Are they external pressure?  Or are they truly my heart calling me to continue to move forward and listen to its messages. The story is told by Ghosh, a major character in the book.  He is reminiscing to his twin sons about the time he was in prison and a cell mate was telling this tale. His cell mate said it was a tale well known to children in Africa. 'Abu Kassem, a miserly Baghdad merchant, had held on to his battered, much repaired pair of

Roberta Droski Filling the Turkey for Thanksgiving Thanksgiving.  I have a friend, Birim, who wrote me and expressed her wish by e-mail that I have a good "Thanks Giving".  She lives in Istanbul and Thanksgiving isn't one of the holidays she celebrates. I realized by her division of the words that I did need to give more thanks.  It's not just a recitation on how "thankful" I am for blah, blah, blah.  It's more about showing others my appreciation for them.  It's not always easy to express in words the gratitude I feel for the precious gifts they give me. Father Holding His Daughter So She Can Watch the Parade  -thanks for taking the time to spend with me.  -thank you for sharing a text or a call for no reason.  -thank you for remembering me when you need a friend, and letting me be one.  -thank you for putting down everything to just talk with me.    -thank you for sending me things in the mail once in awhile.   -thank yo

I went to a fund-raising auction last night in St. Ignace.  It was the my first chance to hear Charlie Fowler, (my former English teacher in high school), auctioneer.  He exhibited the same skills he used as teacher to keep on top of a crowded room of anxious bidders.  Eyes scanning the room for movement of the auctioning sticks. Voice loud with clear. Eye contact to keep potential buyers engaged. High expectations for every person there to join in the bidding. Fun and love in his demeanor. Focus and patience for each new bid.  Style to challenge each person with their arm up to bid higher. Management skills to best use the small window of time before bell rings and class is dismissed (or in this case, the auction is over). I remember taking a literature class of his that was loaded with football players. (in the 70s class sizes were very large at LaSalle) I couldn't schedule any other English class in my day. He assured me it would be fine when I voiced my concern about 

Connemara, Ireland So bare the trees. So bare my heart without you, my love. So cold the November wind. So bitter the chill in my heart without your touch. So short the daylight.  So little my soul sees through the darkness  without your smile, Sweetheart. So smothered the brown earth with snow. So gasping for breath am I, without the hope of your quiet voice. So still the frozen, waveless shore. So I too, wait for the thaw of spring to feel you melt in my arms, where you belong. Inishmore,   Largest Aran Island, Ireland

Add caption I'm still absorbing the book "the Solitude of Prime Numbers".  It's fascinating following the characters.  It has some gems that hit me one in awhile.  The latest one is where a character is about to ask a young woman out on a date and how he prepares for it. '……"I thought you could come to dinner at my place," Fabio tossed out.  His confidence faltered for a moment in the middle of those words, but he immediately shook off his uncertainty.  He plunged both hands into the pockets of his white coat and prepared to accept any kind of reply with the same kind of lightness.  He knew how to build a shelter for himself even before he needed one.' Add caption I know what shelters Giordano is describing. Reading it makes me feel more sane.  More normal.  I have built elaborate shelters.  I have designed shelters way before I have an encounter where I feel I may be rejected.  I reme

Be Not Afraid-hands by church in Ireland Thinking about my God-Father, Clyde, passing yesterday. About my God-Mother, Yvonne, trying to keep her energy and smiling inside about her husband's walking on.  Knowing he's journeying. Pain-free, worry-free, and seeing the faces of God.   None of my thoughts can move very far without thinking about Mom.  We're here in Tennessee, so far away from the "viewing" on Thursday, and the funeral on Friday.  Another friend passing, and her friend Yvonne grieving and struggling with her health morning, noon and night.  I feel for Mom.  But, I know that all this is a process for her, not a finality.  She knows about death, losing a loved one, picking up and putting one foot in front of another to move on.  She loves big and will continue to love big. Mom lovingly made a delicious meal last night.  Focusing on the ingredients, cutting, folding, heating, serving.  I guess each of Yvonne and Clyde's children and g