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Monday, May 24, 2021

Stained Glass Windows

Stained Glass Windows

Stained and tattered
Bruised and worn
Any pretense at beauty
Callously shorn

Glass so fragile
Shards so sharp
No ground to shelter
Nor flourishing harp

Windows on the naked soul
Shudders the graze
Of life’s sharp thorns
Such are my vagabond ways

~ Ellen Apple
19 January 2017


New Month, Another New "Normal"

It has been forever since I blogged. As in years.

Losing Roger broke a part of me, and I suppose I have spent the last three years trying to figure out how to fix me. Again.

After Roger died, my brother Larry died. Then my sister in law  Kathy. Then my mother in law Ann. Then my mother last March.  If our reality, our beingness as people, is irrevocably defined by our connections to one another, then what happens when we lose these connections?

There is a ponderous weight to grief that pulls you down, that drowns you. Then there is the after. The dawning knowledge of a severed cord, a rope that tied you to the here and now. Then the weight of that connection is released and suddenly the lack pushes you up and away, into thinner air and fewer connections. A bit of dandelion fluff just adrift on unseen currents, no destination or plan. Just floating.

So here are some of my days...



1 May 2020
Drove to the park at the water. The park is closed but was able to sit in the car and gaze at the gentle movements of the water in the Cape Fear River. Bald Head Island looks so serene across the way. The sea gulls were raucous but entertaining.  There were a few people fishing from the public access. I suppose the pier was closed as well. I count the afternoon a success.



2 May 2020

6ws⁷

Contemplating-
Quiet
Respite
Restores
Quarantine
Rankles



3 May 2020

7WS

Cerulean Sunday
Quietude reigns
Sacred contemplation
Meditation

4 May 2020


5 May 2020

Stepped outside to an encompassing aroma of sweetness.  There are at least 3 varieties of clover currently blooming around the front door.

My langniappe of the day.




6 May 2020

So there was the time I told Roger I was making BLTs for lunch and I make BECs instead.
Because somehow my brain considered Bacon Egg and Cheese = Bacon Lettuce and Tomato.
He looked so puzzled...


7 May 2020

Jasmine
Honeysuckle
Wisteria
Clover
Heady aromas waft through the air
Then ...
Stench from the paper mill
Keeps it real
🙄

8 May 2020

In the rebirth of the day
May birdsong chase your blues away
And should no birds begin to sing
May grace a time of respite bring


Friday, January 13, 2017

Tree of Life

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remember

One day at a time
One way at a time
One person at a time
We each have the capacity
To be the change we want to see
And make the life we want to live
By extending
And receiving
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I found this picture on Facebook earlier
I really liked it
So I am sharing it with you today


were it not for us

Who would have thought 
the unthinkable
Who would have dreamed
the impossible
Who would have sought
the unattainable
Who would have seemed
unknowable
Were it not for 
the dreamers
the schemers
the artists
the writers
Were it not
for us?

~ Ellen Apple
13 January 2017




Thursday, January 12, 2017

war in the basement

we played war in the basement
when I was a young girl
with an ancient doughboy helmet from WWI
liberated from my grandmother's attic
and empty ammo clips and many pairs of earplugs
that came from the first television war -
you remember that one?
the war that wasn't a war
Vietnam
old red ink from a corner shelf
cloths from the ragbag for bandages
Stat!
Incoming!
our hardware was an old bb-gun
that never did shoot right
and cap pistols - of course
we had parades in circles around the washing machine
blowing on a recorder and banging
on a toy xylophone with sticks as hammers
I fear we were rather eclectic in our
historical appropriations
all conflicts were sourced for
our tailor-made assaults
but movies and Walter Cronkite taught us well
the words and deeds we emulated
now I watch
Anderson Cooper and Rachel Maddow
and fear for the future of
the precious wee ones in my life
weighs me down
and I wonder how our parents and
teachers did not expire from the weight
so much sorrow poured in their souls
all the while we played
war in the basement

~ Ellen Apple
12 Jan 2017

when given naught



Who would have thought
E'en when given naught
On which to build a dream
Which to others might seem
Just a child's whimsy
"Banking on hope is just ... flimsy"
That letter on letter
Word on word
A tome for the ages is just so crafted
Lost to the masses if not first drafted
In the soul and the mind
That but for happenstance we find
In the dark hours of sorrow
When others joy we borrow
It pulls us to joy
Like a a squeaky wooden toy
Tied with a red string
Just an insignificant thing
That one act of grace
Humankind's face

~ Ellen Apple 
12 Jan 2017

Saturday, December 31, 2016

A New Year's Missive



I wrote this on 12/31/2013:

2013 has not been the best of years for some people, 2013 has been an average year for some people, 2013 has been the most incredible year ever for some people. We pause and reflect, we say goodbye then hello. We say good riddance and I shall miss you. Looking back is human nature, moving forward is a fact of science. We cannot freeze time, we cannot have any do-overs, we can only move forward.

Am I being too pragmatic, too matter of fact? Life is what it is, but what we take from it is the one thing we do have control over. Do we learn our lessons? Do we use our experiences, our opportunities to better the life and experiences that are ever coming at us?

I am here to tell you, dwelling on the past does not work. I know too many people that are fixated on a past glory or tragedy and they are not content.

Where is this meandering headed? Happy New Year. May the days to come bring you balance, contentment, love, grace, and hope.

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I shared this on 12/31/2012:




I wrote this on 12/31/2012:

I know a woman, a widow, in North Carolina who has two daughters, both married. The older daughter married a minister and they never had any children. The younger daughter, who is my age, married a man who had a son. She never had any children either. Her stepson committed suicide when he was 16. 

This woman and both of her daughters (I have known these people for over 20 years) have always been very materially motivated, very career oriented. They have stuff. Lots of stuff. They are not really happy though. The two daughters will be lonely, I fear, surrounded by all their stuff, because they live not in joy but in fear someone will get their stuff.

I do not have a lot of stuff. I am more prone to give things away than accumulate. I value intangibles, I think.

Just thinking about things today. Maybe I should have concentrated more on stuff when I was 30. Intangibles are not real good at paying the bills.


This year this has caught my attention:



I also wrote this on my Facebook timeline earlier in the week:

I have a small ritual I perform on New Year's Eve each year wherein I write on small slips of paper things I want to let go of and leave behind as I step into a new year with all the promise and possibility it holds. I then burn them, either in a small cauldron or in a bonfire if the weather permits having one. The ashes are carried away into the ether, and I go unencumbered into the new year. At times, I ask people if they would like me to include their petitions - but only people I know personally so I can gather the slips and include them in my fire of new beginnings and they can know the petition has not been read by any eyes save their own. This year, if you have a desire to be included, set your list on your heart and enter your name in a comment for this post. I will burn a blank paper for the list you have in your heart as I burn the slips I have for myself.
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Ellen

Tonight, we say a heartfelt farewell to 2016 and a hopeful hello to 2017. We think this has been a rough year – or a great many of us seem to – though I suspect that it has been no worse than most, and better than more than a few. There are those of us who have faced sorrow and loss that brought us to our knees, yet there are those who have triumphed and excelled in ways we never thought possible.

There is ever that pragmatist in me, those cellular memories that came from my paternal heritage. My father, Poss Smith, was the most pragmatic of people. He had a dry wit, and seemed unflappable in most circumstances. I shared extensively regarding my father on New Year's Eve 2011.


Later, I am burning my name slips for those whose accepted my offer. With Roger and I included, there are about 24 names for whom I am performing this ritual. I am amazed that 2017 is upon us. I feel strongly that these are times that hold high stakes on many fronts, and I am both optimistic and trepidatious to see what the next twelve months bring.

In closing I share again my words for 2017

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Grace

~ Ellen Apple
12/31/2016