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The first time Mother and I saw the windmill turn its blades was when her twin flew from Albuquerque to Holland to celebrate their 90th birthday. The second time was nearly eight years later, her first day home in two months. Thursday, she walked to her bench at the Jane Tree Corner on Windmill Island and back to the parking lot with Wheelie (her walker). As many of you know, it is not a short walk! I lugged a wheelchair—just in case—forgetting there are miracles within things like excellent therapy, a strong will, and the prayers, encouragement, love, flowers, cards, and snippets from so many people across the western hemisphere. Thank you. Short, Humorous, Rhyming Poems There once was a woman named Jane
Whose love it was easy to gain. She'll give you a hug That makes you feel snug And she always sees sunshine in rain. H.M. of Michigan __________ Lady Jane There once was a Lady named Jane, Whose heart was as grand as her name. She loved her family and friends With a love that never ends, And all that love lived forever as a gift to you and me. J.T. of Texas __________ Wishing a quick recovery To dear Jane McKinney Who deserves nothing but the best Including a better snippet! 100-year-old B.L. and the “non hard-rhymer daughter,” S. L., of Florida __________ Life can be hard Times can be a little tough Pull up your big girl panties And say “That’s enough!” S.H. of Canada __________ Getting it Done Lady Jane is building strength To walk inside her door; Her goal grows closer all the time, With brighter days in store. Her spirit is indomitable, Her faith beyond compare; No wonder she impresses folks Who give her loving care. We know that in our golden years It can be hard to heal, But perseverance is the key To even out the keel. And so this little snippet Is coming to a close, But great rhymes are never-ending, As any poet knows! E. S. of Wyoming __________ When I was born I was brought into a home Soon I got married We built a small home We always liked the beach Lumber was put together for a magical home Now we are old We went to a retirement home When we see Him We will really be home J.H. of Michigan __________ Your mind is a rockin’! Your will is like steel! You exercise daily! Just avoid a cartwheel! Despite what your therapist Wants you to do Be firm: “No!” to backbends! And no high-heeled shoes! Soon you’ll exclaim To that wonderful staff “Sayonara! Adios! As you exit and laugh. J.R. of Michigan __________ For the mother of Mary, I really must say. Here's hoping your hours are brighter today. Some silliness, laughter is always in style So get out for that walk, we need your sweet smile. Roses are red, violets are purple No more soda for you, It just makes you burple. By now you are home and feeling no pain No more of your shenanigans, don't do that again! Ok, I will finish, I really must go, but have a great day- Sue and Jim say, "hello". S.C. of Michigan __________ There once was a family Who met once a year The time we had was lovely Because we hold all to be dear J.S. of New Mexico __________ To try to write a snippet I’d certainly need to equip it With a way to be funny And with the correct iambic and intelligently appropriate metrical structure that would rhyme. J.R. of Michigan __________ If we walk on the grass we best be wary. Poop on our shoes makes Rubin contrary! J.M. and M.M. of Michigan July was tough for Mother. A series of mishaps landed her in Medilodge of Holland for rehabilitation. She’s determined to go home. Many people are intent on helping. To say thank you, we decided to write short, humorous poems to make everyone smile. We call them “snippets.”
Learning about electrolytes Michael likes blue. Dawn prefers cherry. We haven’t found anyone who really likes berry. For a bottle of orange, we traded a cherry. But we have to admit we’d rather have berry. Like Rubin, my brother enjoys a good rhyme. Tom says that’s because he drinks lemon-lime. Experiencing Therapy With her athletic prowess Mother’s wowing the team, as she learns to move safely and builds up her steam. She works hard in therapy so we can go walking to our favorite benches and do lots of talking. Celebrating healing Cards of encouragement adorn a wall in her room. When she looks that direction she’s a flower in bloom. Family gathers each day in the courtyard at 3:00, sharing love and laughter which we know are key. Can you think of a “snippet”? Please send it our way. We all could use humor To get through a rough day. For the staff at Medilodge of Holland and family and friends When I say the lake is like glass I mean the kind of glass on which I once loved to skate, back in the days when I waited patiently for the Zamboni to shave the frosted chunks off the ice and the pools of water to evaporate. I remember lugging a weathered canvas duffel into an empty women’s locker room and dumping the second-hand gear on the floor—the padded shorts with suspenders, shoulder pads, elbow pads, shin guards (none of it flattering)-- and lacing a snug pair of boy’s skates on my feet, tying my hair back to fit a helmet on my head, shoving a mouthguard between my lips, sliding hands into oversized leather gloves, grabbing my stick, and waddling out the door to join the guys, determined no one could tell me what I could and couldn’t do. So many injuries against the glass. Do you, too, remember the ceilings? I wrote the essence of this poem on the 7-hour motor-sail from Ludington to Frankfort, before President Joe Biden decided to step aside and support Vice President Kamala Harris as the next president of the United States. If she is elected, and I plan to do my best to make that happen, our country would become the 60th country since 1960 to elect a woman as head of state. The splintering of glass would be heard by young girls around the world and the light of hope would shine on us all.
Is it okay to be afraid? I whisper,
my words slipping out unintentionally as lightning illuminates an angry sky and thunder explodes like circling cannons. Sails down, we huddle in the companionway, knowing the mast on our sailboat is a conduit for the electrical fury raging above Lake Michigan. This unforeseen wall of weather on the water is inching closer, winds building off the stern, swells rocking the boat and challenging the autopilot for control. A pounding rain reverberates off the fiberglass and a misty fog swallows the shoreline. One lightning strike could destroy navigating instruments, punch pinholes through the hull, explode the mast, electrocute one or both of us. Miles from harbor, there is nowhere to go. His eyes are gentle as he answers my question. Only two seconds between the last flash and the trailing thunder. The strike was a half mile away. Before sailing out the channel, an army of sweat bees emerges from the forest as if telling me it’s time to leave. Thank you to Mother, who agreed to move into respite care while Rubin and I sail out the channel and head north. (Respite care is designed to provide short-term relief for primary caregivers.) Thanks to siblings who are driving the long miles to be with Mother while we are gone; to caregivers who are doing their best to keep Mother safe until we return; to you who encouraged me to care, also, for me; and for any favorable winds, smooth seas, and sun-touched skies that accompany us on this journey.
Mary P.S. As access to internet can be difficult on the water, postings this summer will be erratic. Rubin says, "hang in there!" Death, certainly, is the most permanent. Like the time my older sister lost her kitten to the teeth of the dog next door. Or the morning he, who could no longer speak, said goodbye to his wife with his eyes. But I also have wept after witnessing the mental and physical decline of ones I love; at knowing I, too, am aging and life changes are inevitable. I have experienced the betrayal associated with harassment, discrimination, assault, and the resulting loss of faith in humanity. I am living with the heartbreak of seeing the blue waters of a beloved lake blanketed green; the sandy beaches I used to walk defined by pebbles, impassable because of new rock embankments. But the losses hardest for me to shoulder are those caused by my own mistakes; when I, usually speeding through life’s to-do list, trample on ones I care for deeply; when I harm and am erased from a life, a wall created to keep me outside. How I deal with loss is a matter of choice. And since all losses can potentially tear apart any peace of mind, I want to choose wisely. I asked my husband his thoughts and he was surprised I cared so much about football.
Two deaths in three days. A brother. A poetry friend. And yet, the robins, finches, cardinals, and chickadees are singing from the trees at dawn. Their songs remind me it is a new day rich in possibilities.
How do I want to live my “one wild and precious life?” * *From the poem, "The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver As I was not there to see the young fox emerge from its den beneath the neighborhood bench, witness the inquisitive eyes confronting the camera, watch its black boots bound across the sloping dune, the white tip of its tail disappear among the first reeds of spring, a neighbor sent me a photograph. Instead, I stood at a window seven miles from our home, one arm around my mother, and pointed to the young maple rising above the cattails, its pencil-like trunk bending under the weight of a furry body plumper and more awkward than a squirrel; tail flatter, rounder than an otter; inching too far up the tree to be a beaver; a woodchuck, perhaps, climbing to the topmost branches to nibble the first of the lime green leaves. Thanks to Rob Spaargaren for sharing the photograph of the red fox pup.
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Author, Poet, PhotographerFrom briefcase to pen, paper and camera, one woman's journey to influence how we care for the environment, our seniors, each other. Due to technical difficulties, comments are not posting correctly to this site. Please contact me with thoughts while I work through this issue. Thanks for understanding.
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