The Way of Things

I remember this, my last conversation with Papa.

He, trying to alleviate our pain.

But I heard, through his bravado

the saddened beat of my heart

submerged in deep water

no knowledge of how to stay afloat

grief no words could express

He said,

“Remember the sandhill crane?”

How could I forget?

Long necks

the sound of their rattle calls  

broad wings flying over

ancestral farmland

He said,

“She’s like the hourglass that drips the sand of time

replenishes herself by picking leftovers from the field

She keeps moving forward.

She never stops.

She is you

and she is me.

Our fields, too deep to forget

Too vast to go away.

I will never truly leave you” 

“Is this the way of things, Papa?”

 “Ja, mein liebes.” 

“It is,” he smiled.

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Prose adapted from my novel, “Naked, She Lies

Photo credit

Express

Grandma’s Slice of Idiom Advice

If you can’t get back on the horse

– -well, you can, of course

If you can’t find your way home

you’re not alone

If you can’t lead the horse to water

then, dear granddaughter,

forget about the nag.

‘Cause if you can’t get to the cookie,

eat through the bag!

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and if you bite off more than you can chew

don’t worry, you’ll pull through

Let sleeping dogs lie

and you’ll be fine

‘Cause your guess is as good as mine.

 

 

Life Lessons from the Ring – Questions to ask yourself

I was too young to remember the times my dad came home with blood on his clothes. It was my older sister who told me how our non-violent mother would cringe at the sight.

Interesting that, even though I was two at the time, my father’s evening work would influence my life and expand my awareness.

The blood wasn’t my dad’s. Not then. His own blood was spilled years before when he boxed for the army.

The blood on my father’s clothes were from young men who, like my father, tried to prove something, make something of themselves in the boxing ring  “at a time when boxing mattered.” (Quote by Mark Brown, my first and continuing boxing coach)

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(My dad’s in the middle)

But hitting bags and pads matters to me.

Not only because of the fitness aspect, but to serve as a reminder of those who “toughened up” enough to be a better person in Life’s ring.

Participants of this sport or not, think of the lessons learned in boxing metaphors.

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(I keep these 1950’s baby rattles in my boxing bag as a reminder)

 

Ask yourselves these questions:

 

— Do you feel trapped? Cornered? Are you UP AGAINST THE ROPES. 

Try maneuvering to the center of the ring.                                      

— Do you keep yourself from getting hurt, literally or figuratively? PROTECT YOURSELF AT ALL TIMES.                                    

Do this because, as my dad used to say, “You are your own best friend.”

Do you care about others? Then you are IN THEIR CORNER.

Make sure you find someone who will be in yours.

— Think you’ve hit bottom? Then you are DOWN FOR THE COUNT.

Do you have the stamina and willpower to get back up even if the odds feel against you?

— Have you gone too far with your criticisms? Then you’ve delivered an illegal A LOW BLOW.

Hurting others will eventually lead to hurting yourself.

— Are you thinking about THROWING IN THE TOWEL? Have you given up?

Sometimes we have to say “enough is enough.” Consider the towel carefully.

— Do you miss dangers coming your way? Do you LET YOUR GUARD DOWN?

How vulnerable are you willing to be?

— Do you ignore rude comments and take adversity in stride? Do you ROLL WITH THE PUNCHES?

Good! Backbones and self-confidence are sure wins.

— Were you luckily interrupted before sh..t hit the fan? Then you were SAVED BY THE BELL.

Who doesn’t love a blessing in disguise?

 

Are you a person who strives to be a better person?

Then you are a contender.

Be your own champion.

Because, at the end of the day when the rounds are over, you can kick up your feet and know that you fought even when tired, and you put up a good fight.

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(painting by C. Dennis-Willingham)

Life – Just stay on

Life is a carousel, don’t you think? We go round and round, a circle of life,  trying to catch the best parts.

Sometimes, the ride is slow, like one at a kiddie park. Or maybe the ride never starts. Perhaps something is broken, the belt ceases to move, and you are left without your luggage. (That’s a good thing. Get rid of the baggage!)

Other times, we are on a grand adventure of beauty and magic. I say, if we must go round and round in life, let’s ride on this one.

But whatever we do, let’s not choose the stationary seat. It might seem pretty but it also means we’re playing it safe.

Instead, choose one that moves you up and down, makes you giddy from the inside out, and leaves you smiling.

 

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Where Poems live

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CD-W


There’s a place were poems live

a secret place well hidden

away from the madness

away from the strangers

where life, with all it’s twists and turns, flourishes and grows.

The place where poems grow

is a never ending pasture

where little sprouts are watered and pruned

waiting to be nurtured waiting

to be harvested by the author.

If I could, I’d spend more time in that pasture

I would feel the creative winds kiss my cheeks

and smell the air left behind from inspiring rains

I would listen to the seasons and taste the warmth of words upon my tongue.

I visit there sometimes

I twirl and dance and run and play

And when I’m tired

I lay on the green and stretch my arms toward the sky

I twirl the clouds around my fingertips

and smile at their tickled laughter

All in that secret place

where poems live.

      – CD-W