thinking of my son

I read this poem today and thought of my son living in his miniscule apartment with toilets overflowing on New Years Eve and no living room, just a bedroom and a kitchen. I think all of us who have gone to college remember days like these where we had very little, were very cold and looked to the future.

At the University College of North Wales at Bangor
By Gerald Locklin

Most of my students here are very poor.

I seldom see them in the pubs: they
Cannot really afford the prices.

As winter hits they have to decide whether
To spend their shillings on the coin-operated heaters
Or on food.

I suspect that heat often wins—you can
Freeze to death quicker than you will starve.

Their incentive is that they will presumably
Have more comfortable lives if they survive
The minimalist conditions of college.

The government gives them a small grant
From which to buy books.
We are encouraged to require
Very few books.

A book is a valued art object here.

I never hear a complaint here
And no one misses a tutorial
Without the most profuse and formal
Of apologies.

In California my students and I and everyone else,
Also including the movie stars and politicians and
Pro-athletes,

Seldom stop for breath
In the midst of a constant bitching.

tree love

I wanted to introduce you to the trees I love in my neighborhood. I enjoy them each time I walk my dog, Wendy. I especially like the one with a sweater on.

Canadian humor

For all of you who say I talk like I am from Canada, some Friday night humor for you. You will need to click on the image to see the whole thing.
see more Epic Fails

re entering

I just returned from several days in Washington DC and Virginia. I miss my family and especially my children. So, to help me, and possibly you, re-enter the work world tomorrow, here is a video gift for you (and me). Happy after Thanksgiving to all.

a life ends

My next door neighbor's brother died two nights ago. Today, I stayed at her house to set up a luncheon for after the funeral and to take care of her dog and her daughter's dog too. When I got to the house, I encountered the familiar trappings of a funeral. The nephews in stiff shirts with clumsily tied ties, the aunt who no one has seen in a blue moon asking if they can watch the Red Wings tonight, the old percolator humming in the kitchen and filling the house with the smell of coffee. The faces white with grief, still managing to fulfill the requirements of daily living..."We don't have any mayonnaise for sandwiches. We have to go to the store."

Then, returning from the church, the nephews loosen their ties and play basketball in the yard - the friends busy themselves unwrapping trays of turkey sandwiches.

My neighbor's brother had a disability and could not live alone. She took care of him as long as she could but then he lived in a foster placement with his brother, who also was disabled. The brother left behind doesn't understand what has happened and asks where his brother has gone. They shared a bedroom all 68 years of their lives. At the house, an assemblage of many in wheelchairs and various ranges of mental abilities appears. Everyone is welcomed and treated as dear friends. It is really remarkable to watch.

I return home with their dog to take care of him for a bit until the busyness dies down. I can hear their voices outdoors. I am grateful for what I was able to witness today.

midnight marauders

At 2:47am, my dog ran to the window barking her "Oh no, someone is at our house!" bark. My bedroom is on the second floor so I pushed aside the curtain to come face to face with two very large masked bandits - raccoons! They had climbed the crabapple tree outside my window and were having a midnight snack of crabapples. They just looked at me, about 12 inches from the window, and I looked at them. They kept munching and didn't run away. My dog looked at them for a bit and went back to her bed on the other side of the room, getting up to check the window every once in a while, assuming her role again as protector of all.

musings after seeing my son and talking to my daughter on the phone...

No one told me that there would be days when the thoughts of your children would wrap around your heart in such a tangle that you fear it might burst.

It's, you know, the way their laugh kindles such a flame, you can't quite bear it.

There are times when I see or talk to my two grown children and I feel witness to something much bigger than myself in this world. I wonder at their intellect and their heart and their love for homeless people who need good food. Their hunger to learn and to know. Their hope for the future. Their striving towards something that they don't even know yet.

I can almost see their spirit. It makes my chest ache.