Stain-glass Eyes

This has been an important week for me.   It was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day on Monday.  The speeches and performances invigorated me.   I walked away with hope.  Hill Auditorium, in Ann Arbor, was packed with others who needed hope and inspiration, too.  I could feel the energy as soon as I walked in and took a seat in the balcony.  When I talk to people, (pretty much daily), I hear prejudges.  I listen to misinformation, misguided stubbornness, elitism, projected family/cultural upbringing, showing bias toward humans.  I was just called an “Extreme Liberal” this morning because I’m a retired teacher.  That’s the trouble with labels.  What do they mean?  I could have either been flattered or insulted.  A smile was all I felt was needed for a response. (Well, I admit I did verbalize, “Nobody is “Only” one thing, nothing is across the board-one way.”)    My daughter introduced me to the concept of a “Bullet Journal”.  The basis of the journal is to put perimeters arou

I search through my stain-glass. It hangs free in front of my large window. It blocks how I see the world. Oranges, yellow, blues dark and light. Green, rose, white, red and black. There are some clear fractions in my stain-glass,  Unacknowledged by my vision. I don’t care if they allow me to see clearly through, to the outside. They hold no interest for me. I want no reality. I want vibrant colors, shades of yellow mixing with bright green, creamy orange mixing with reds.  I want hope.  I prefer this blurred reality. A bright red cardinal touches down and balances on my crabapple tree branch. I see him through the orange in my glass. His color is distorted.  Lost is his natural beauty against the leafless tree.   The snow slowly falls in the windless air. I see crimson and blue flakes.  They bathe themselves effortlessly in the vibrant stain-glass colors.  Light Through a Fence Shadow of Birch Tree Steps i

It's 2017! Again, the holidays swept by and ended with this frigid blowing of wind and snow.  Brrrrrr.   The winds won’t sweep away my memories though.  Warm voices, music, carols, coffee cafes, dancing, laughing, preparing food, reading, planning, watching movies, toasting (Prost), hugging, playing.  When I weave them together they make a unique blanket of their own.  A blanket to pull over myself for comfort. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJ7yGaVc3VE   Swing Dancing in Ann Arbor Christmas season for me doesn’t start, though, until I listen to old recordings of my daughter, Elizabeth, singing carols.  Her two-year-old voice singing, “Fahwahwahwahwah, wahwah wah!” and “Jowee oh Saint Nicohwiss”, are magical.  I’m getting better at ignoring the pandemonium media creates. My soul can only take so much. I check some media, online and when I feel overwhelmed I’ve discovered sitting down with a newspaper is more relaxing and I can control the pace of the news.