Saturday, January 19, 2013

Time, And Time Again

Marking our 43rd wedding anniversary a few weeks ago, and then having a landmark birthday has left me mellow and reflective about the passage of time. Then today, in my never-ending effort to organize my office (which I would rather do anything than), I opened an old journal and found this from 1998:

What Happened Along the Way

I used to want to change the
   world with grand brush
   strokes of brilliance,
   subtly accented with

Then life happened...
Sign papers.
Admire the ring.
Board an airplane.
Get used to us.
Buy a crib.
Check a sunset.
Write a check.
Buy little shoes.
Find two tiny teeth marks on the arm
   of the rocking chair.
Check the real estate listings.
Find a school.
Put a lost tooth under a pillow.
Get film for the camera.
Hire a babysitter.
Buy a bicycle.
Find a music teacher.
Apply for a library card.
Sign up for soccer.
Go to a dance recital.
Plan a vacation.
Answer the telephone.
Make a costume.
Dry tears.
Try to remember history, chemistry, French verbs.
Get ready for Christmas.
Leave the porch light on.
   Wait up.
Visit college campuses.
Accept collect calls.
Admire the ring.
Did someone say Grandma?
Where did I put my Dr. Seuss collection?

I used to want to change the world with
   Who I Am
   and What I can Do For It,
my possibilities all at the ready.

   Then life happened and
I got busy.

   Now I am content to think
it will be enough if someone
misses me when I am gone.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Good Morning, 2013


A small gray wren,
plump from early spring feasting,
perched on the trunk
of a gnarled old willow still in its
winter skeleton, and chirped her
contentment with the world.
Except for her song I might not
have noticed her there,
so plain and easily overlooked.
She stopped for a moment and
jumped higher, to the stump of a
limb pruned away last year,
before beginning another chorus.
Silhouetted against the cloudless
morning sky, she sang her song of
thanks for a day such as this.
She has only one song, and it doesn’t
matter who is listening. She has
perfected it because she sings it
every day.

Except for my song, you might not
notice me, here among the
monotony of sagebrush, perched in
an ordinary white house with plain
gray trim. Many songs coming alive
in my soul, imperfect little chirps at
first, awaken it to all the
Stronger as the unnumbered days
go on, my songs arise and are born
a part of me, and yet apart from me.
On a day such as this, what can I do
but sing from every branch
in all the trees I can find?

(Pamela Williams, 2002)