Stain-glass Eyes

I just replaced my beloved vehicle. My eagle gave me wingspan and safety for my travels. I was one with it in escape and it was a nest I could come home to and count on. I dremeled it to hell and back. Filled holes, painted, duct-taped and sealed parts to keep rust at bay. It cooperated most of the time. But…eventually the under-frame cracked and I had to let it go. Not just let it go to another owner, either. I had to sell it for parts. I didn’t want a young (or old) family to get into my vehicle and have it fall apart and hurt anyone. It was tempting, for the money…but…I know I did the right thing. Sometimes I have to force myself to follow my heart.   I spent many, many hours formulating what I wanted in a used car. My brother, Tim, suggested looking at Consumer Reports (it was well worth the subscription). You were right, Baby Brother! I researched and researched what I wanted, what I could pay and how I was going to go about finding another vehicle. My daughter Elizabeth said ...

We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.” - J.K. Rowling Have you ever tried to untangle the headphones that come with an iPhone? They have rubbery, stick-to-each-other quality in the wire coating. No matter how nicely I put them away, when I need them they’re all tangled. I’m dumbstruck at how I keep reaching for them. Yesterday when I tried to untangle them before my walk, it made me think of how I do the same thing with some of my old thinking. Old strategies I reach for even when they don’t work for me anymore (or never did). They aren’t useful and cause a lot of stress. I want to share two of them. * SILENCE * I’ve learned this one well…when I want to talk to someone about something they said or did that   has caused me pain or discomfort I let it slide. I clam up. It doesn’t work out issues with another person. Frankly, it’s not very respectful of another to not tell them what has c...

Why would a young person see an advantage in aging if most older people they’re exposed to complain all the time, focus on the past and yank back on their aged ideas like they were snagging and reeling in a huge pike?   Would there be any hope in aging? I’m not talking about physical traces of aging. I’m talking about the possibility we can evolve our opinions, values and dreams over time. Young people need hope, they are deciding what they want for their life, their future. It’s not helpful for them to worry about dilemmas aged people keep putting front-forward. They need space. They need to feel trust in us to keep our act together so the youth have room to create chaos, take risks and gamble on their own future, which means to make inevitable mistakes we all did. I believe wholeheartedly we are not doing youth any favors by giving the impression we float on our merits when we get “older”. It’s difficult, but we need to impress on them each year there is hope. Seeing our open-min...

  Dear Happy Little Snowflake, I have some questions for you. ( I’ve been watching you outside my window the last few days) l.   How does it feel to float around so carefree? 2. How do you just drift with the wind? 3. How is it possible not to worry about viruses? Fondly, Your Friend,   Maggie Snowfall in Berlin Dear Maggie, It’s creepy you’ve been watching me. (Just saying) I’m a simple snowflake so I thought I was invisible to your world. I’m always hearing about how horrible we are and how people want to sweep us away, plow us over, pee on us or simply leave and go south. Thank you for writing, though, I’m sorry for your loss since Covid-19. To answer your questions…when I’m floating with the wind senses take over. The cold (as I like it best) makes sounds muffled, I fall with a wet, crisp taste of being a snowflake. Each day I transform into a new design. A new entity. I am aware of my priceless freedom. I will miss my window of time if I don’t cherish each hour, each...

I’ve wanted to write lately. But, I’ve stopped myself so many times. I finally felt desperate enough to slap myself across my avoidance-face today. To see what my mind thinks it can shield me from.   My mind is sly. It’s good at evading at all costs. But, what have I been slithering away from? What thoughts? What emotions? It’s been like Pong* of the 70s. With each bounce it challenges me, “Are you there yet? I’ll be back.” My mind-trickery helps me believe I’m immune to thoughts and feelings when I avoid.   When I let the words come out I realize why I've stopped myself. The minute I let my fingers touch the keyboard this morning shame and fear dangle in front of me. They felt they needed to remind me I’ve dodged the virus-hardball, for now. S hame judges me harshly for side-stepping loss. Loss of a job, health, a loved one, a home, an income. Hope, faith, sanity. Fear wants to graciously help me control “Future”. To know what the unknowns are — - — - ---- -- --- -  ev...

On my long, curved, clay-colored, couch, I watch a golden shadow with blotches of darkness go over and across where my legs would be if I was sitting there in the shade from the sun. Like a mesmerizing strobe light it insists I watch. I hear the steady tap sound of the pendulum return to its place of origin, over and over. The shadow mimics the clock’s rhythm with a dance on my couch. I turn and stare up at the clock mechanism four feet above the floor, encased in a deep red, wood frame with windows up and down on all sides. “Now I’m here, now I’m there.” If I listen hard enough I can hear the violins rise to accompany. Sweet, soft and entranced. It stays in rhythm but in butterfly-wing-chants of sound. The score of time. Constant motion. As the shadows slowly fade on my couch, so does each minute of time. Grandfather Clock continues its movement of song. I turn now toward my apartment window. The sun no longer blinds me. I notice my maroon shamrock (in the pot by the window) has drift...