My Sister

Today was my sister’s Memorial.  It brought family and friends together, Even friends from our childhood and colleagues from the past attended..  Sweet music, a quiet ambiance, and an Irish poem filled the air with remembrance of Emmy.  I wrote and recited this poem.

My Sister

As a toddler, I was told she was special.
Special? What does that mean?
I thought she was just like me.

So, of course as a child does,
I gave her dirty looks,
stuck my tongue out at her,
pulled her hair,
hit her over the head,
and ate candy out of her toys.

She was my older sister,
my only sibling, then.
Isn’t that what you did?

During our childhood years, Emmy
went away.
In those days,
it seemed the course of action.
Went to live somewhere else.

I didn’t ask too many questions comforted that our parents were visiting her.

Why did she leave us? I wondered . . .
but not enough to ask.

I didn’t think so much about my sister.

Emmy was coming home!
Change was in the air.
School for her like school for me
What was so special about that?

I found myself pondering,

What was different about her?
What was she trying to say?
Did she like me?
What was her favorite toy, color, food?

Inquisitive of her nature
my questions grew
Is that what they meant by saying Emmy was special?
In ways we sometimes
do not understand?

Emmy as inspiration,
I set out for some answers.
Spending time with her
in activities,
choosing teaching as a career.

In adulthood,
my sister once again
relocated permanently to a place she called “camp”.
“I like camp”, she would say.
A home, her home
One we felt might meet her needs.
friends aplenty
activities abound
She became part of a new family,
We so hoped she would be happy.

Now in reflection,
I ask myself,
What have I learned?

We are all special in one way
or another
Emmy, perhaps more . . .

Emmy was:

Someone who offered us life lessons that an entire Nation could learn.

Someone who challenged us, at times, to our wits end.

Someone who knew a language all her own,
and asked us to figure it out.

Someone who knew what she wanted and when she wanted it
even if it didn’t make sense the way we thought it should.

Yes, I finally knew what they meant.
Emmy WAS special.

Traveling through the years I’ve learned something else found right here
within my own heart.

To me, what matters most.

I know that I loved my sister.
And, truly what matters more than that?

 

We loved her smile.

Continue reading

Numbers

To be more or maybe less,
there is an option

neither to mingle
nor disappear like in nonexistence

stitch count, splat points, pace on a track,
number of cardinals in a winter’s scene

loved by dreamers
there are those who believe

Productivity, ambition, pride
sing their praises

of course, resting on one’s laurels
is a way to the future

Do they matter? Do they lead to happiness?
A digit that moves from a 5 to a 6?

Numbers.  As I see it, define.

++++++++++

Inspired by ‘Shoe’ by O at the Edges

Just a Note, Not

Not birthday,
Not holiday.
Not because you had to.

Just a Note.

From the heart
These words came
and are received.

One of my favorite
things in life
are words

Simple words, crafted with care
meaningful to the receiver
So thoughtful from the giver

Just a note

not to me
best gift
from one to another.

This note came with an added treat . . .

The title of the photo says it all; in-law family members included

Childhood Dream

“When I grow up
I will have my own house.”
Her inner voice would repeat
“My own place, yes
complete with a pet.”
Her childhood dream.

Closing the door to what ailed her,
She wished away the years
to
adulthood
She plotted, “Now I’ll sneak around. . .
A little cape may do.”

Marriage, children, work.
Common living,
The little house served the family well.
The family thrived,
The home owner, however
her dream, not quite fulfilled.

Years of banter
as it was no longer a decision
for one
She struggled.  “Maybe, I’ll sneak around
to find a dwelling
of satisfaction.”

Oh, boy
a quiet little block
quaint and serine
A lovely neighborhood
it might just work
They all agreed.

Long settled in their home
they are getting older now
which is presenting new questions
about their abode
This dream of childhood is returning
to the center of their attention.

When does a person own a house
When does a house ‘own’ its owner?
They have no answers right now.
But she is coming to realize
the dream is not about the house
rather the memories that are formed inside.

The Winter of Wind (and no snow)

Howling in the morning
blowing in the afternoon
Winter of blustery wind
I will remember you

I listen for the rhythm of breathing
as it informs a runner’s endurance
unable to grasp its contents
as Mother Nature has taken over

Her noise becomes the norm
tree tops dancing, daring to snap
unsuspecting and
interrupting the family’s every move

Howling in the morning
blowing in the afternoon
Winter of blustery wind
I will remember you

The dog lifts her head,
tense body on alert
jumps at what is enveloping her
to catch the invisible play

Layers are a must
double here and vested there
Don’t forget to zip up
Frost bite is ever near

You say you cannot sleep?
When will the blasts of cold air stop?
At least it is not snowing
dumping two feet at the stair.

Howling in the morning
blowing in the afternoon
Winter of blustery wind
I will remember you

Pebble in the Water

Pebble tossed in the water does not move
yet its ripples reach wide and far

Sometimes decisions are difficult to make
While life continues in its fury.

So, the yarn stash remains still
Pattern overload in full throttle

Blog shows lifeless
While ideas are abundant

Running clothes neatly folded
Rather odd for ‘an athlete’ in training

The pebble in the water needs another toss
Who knows where it might land.