Stain-glass Eyes

    Some communication between people is straight forward. Much isn’t. There are SO many factors in the mix:   assumptions by speaker and listener   mind-reading fantasy   body language   outside interruptions   word choices   tone/volume of voice speaker interrupted by listener   silence I’d like to listen more, clarify more and forget the thought “I know what they mean”. Better to think, “I hope I understand” and ask if what I heard is what they intended. I believe there are times when no clarification is needed because the speaker needs to speak period. I don’t really put that in the category of communication. To me when two people communicate it’s to get an idea or thoughts across. Sounds simple. (Heeehhheee, not so much) A few days ago I started to type my blog-post from Marquette, Michigan in a hotel. I had just seen a father with his four-year-old child in the breakfast area while I drank my coffee in the corner of the room. “Do you wa...

Her spongy, rubber soles spoke as she walked. “Pluosh, Pluosh”. Old trees heard her pass but said nothing. Tilted on a wire   far, far above her a lone crow shrieked. “Not my message”, she thought. And it wasn’t.   Just a voice out there in the cool, early morning. It made her think about thoughts. Like a stream of ramble.   Between the brain and the tongue. So much, so very much lost in apathy. Thoughts suspended without the shape of words. She pictured a meteorite as it plunged down. Crushing her as it fell. Her thoughts disseminated. It didn’t concern her to lose her life. But her thoughts……? She was careful to pass over the railroad tracks. Slowed around the corner cafe. Under the canopy of trees. “If I write them down…” She realized they would no longer be thoughts. But words in sentences. She opened the cranky lock to her apartment. Set down her jangle of keys. And sat. She searched out the window on her comforting couch.   She tried to force silence to her th...

A few days ago on a dark, cloudy morning as I walked in the rain, I met (at nose-level) a fragrant, light-purple blossom. It was so weighed down by water that had settled on the grape-shaped flower it caused the whole branch to lean unnaturally across the sidewalk. I knew if I touched it I would get a head full of rain like I’d turned on a sprinkler. Instead, I leaned forward and gently touched the bloom to lift it to my nose. I sucked in the rich, sweet smell and could almost taste the fragrance. I wasn’t sure why I immediately closed my eyes until I saw a screen of memories gently pass behind my eyelids. Smell connected to all my other brain senses and insisted I fully pull in its power. The first rush of memory was me with my head back so I l could look up at huge, gnarly lilac trees covered in soft-violet shades of color. They surrounded my childhood home with a burst of color. I saw the old rickety, back shed, door wide open with the screen already serving its purpose to air out t...

Songs, poetry, movies and jokes have been made about mothers. Mothers have made hero status in scores of people's lives. And a villain in other’s. I found this definition of “Mother” which I hadn’t heard of before: noun: a stringy, mucilaginous substance consisting of various bacteria, especially Acetobacter aceti, that forms on the surface of a fermenting liquid and converts ethanol to acetic acid, as in changing wine or cider to vinegar. Not the definition I would use for my mother. We cling to what we feel the definition of “Mother” is to us. I hope not too tightly because it changes as we mature and it doesn't need to have a narrow meaning. Our ability to love our mothers unconditionally gives us possibility of receiving unconditional love in return. The joke is on you when you realize you’ve become your mother in surprising ways. (Brothers can identify with this as well. I’m pretty sure my brothers know how to clean up a kitchen well with the best of us). Perfection is h...

A newborn has become family. Francis arrived a few days after the day he was expected and decided to start his entrance during a raging snow storm in New  York, in the Hudson Valley. My daughter, Liz, and her partner, Josef, saw several vehicles in the ditch as they carefully made it through the storm to their hospital. The pure joy of soft, warm snuggles with Francis can’t be seen as a value on the stock market to rise and fall. To me it hit the ceiling and won’t ever fall. I can’t think of any tactile electricity as pure and simple as my little grandson’s face near mine as I rock him in the chair his grandma and grandpa brought specially for his arrival. You might be thinking millions and millions of babies have been born and it’s common. An everyday occurrence. Not even very notable. You might say it’s like tiny ripples of water in a stream swerving smoothly around little rocks on the way to the Hudson River.   Wrong. The trumpets sounded, the birds sang. The sky faltered ...

When winter weather fluctuates, My body’s outer-layer drags me down. Lethargic it forces me   To pay attention.   Inside the bone-layers coil.   And keep a pulse of dull pain, From foot to skull.   Ligaments, muscles and tendons Constrict like traitors. They turn and run from battle. And feign injury. I’ve know for some time, their obsession is water. I’ve witnessed this mutiny before. My ship isn’t mine anymore When it happens. I’ve trained my mind to focus (if it listens) To call on my heart When I feel betrayal is inevitable. It’s happened a million times before. I see it coming. My heart, like a child, Eager and playful. holds my hand instantly. Assures me, “Feel the lake, feel the plunge.” I wait for joy to signal my brain, And reign in my body.   As my heart smiles,   And lets her hold on my hand relax. Until… BAMMM! The water is frozen. Snow races and tumbles across the ice in the wind. Like it’s trying to Unlock a steel-like door Without a key. ...