Those Who Carry Us

How mothers and fathers carry the weight of their children not only in their arms and how children once young carry the weight of their parents; spouses too, the mystery of love in the seasons of life...how someone once carried me and keenly aware of the gift I have received, I pray and hope and will to give in kind, the gift I have received. (My grandma Effie carrying me)

'Three Little Birds' is Back

and it feels like a homecoming...it feels like this...

When my nineteen-year-old son turns on the kitchen tap
and leans down over the sink and tilts his head sideways
to drink directly from the stream of cool water,
I think of my older brother, now almost ten years gone,
who used to do the same thing at that age;
and when he lifts his head back up and, satisfied,
wipes the water dripping from his cheek
with his shirtsleeve, it’s the same casual gesture
my brother used to make; and I don’t tell him
to use a glass, the way our father told my brother,
because I like remembering my brother
when he was young, decades before anything
went wrong, and I like the way my son
becomes a little more my brother for a moment
through this small habit born of a simple need,
which, natural and unprompted, ties them together
across the bounds of death, and across time …
as if the clear stream flowed between two worlds
and entered this one through the kitchen faucet,
my son and brother drinking the same water.

"A Drink of Water" by Jeffrey Harrison

Happy Father's Day!

Pope Francis: “I ask for you (dads) the grace to be ever closer to your children, allow them to grow, but be close, close! They need you, your presence, your closeness, your love.”

Happy Father's Day to our sweet son, aka Pa-a, as his son calls him; my Dad and super fun grandpa, and my hubby - the best there is! May God our Father bless you in His love! And thank you each and all for blessing us with your fatherly care and loving ways!  

The Joy of the Dance

 Young Gaelic Dancers warming up before a show and their faces all delight!

Sacred Memory

The other day Kyla and I were working together to organize her room. We rediscovered a bag of stuffed animals etc. we'd put away and among the items was a baby doll she carried everywhere when she was toddling around. It was fun to share with her this happy reminder of precious days passed.

Later we moved her little shrine to her bedside table.

 





















A holy card fell out, St. Kateri Tekawitha.

It has a relic, (a bit of red cloth) and Kyla commented that it was strange to think a piece of someone's clothing was sacred. I was surprised by my emotion as I shared with her that this bit of cloth was like her doll, which is 'just a doll' but also more, simply because it was hers, and is full of meaning and memory for us. She teared up too, 'getting it'. Happy grateful tears, a really good hug and yes, a sacred moment.

Moments and Memory

We were heading out in the car, stopped at the red light, when she looked over and said the man in the car next to us was a hippie.  I glanced right, and saw an older man, looking like he was heading to work, no signs of hippie to my eyes.  "Why do you say that" I ask, and exasperated, she says, slowly and surely so I can 'get it', "because he drives like he is hip!" And she puts her arm out on an imaginary steering wheel, wrist on top, hand hanging down..."a hippie"!!!

And I instantly see in my minds eye my own dad, much younger (I am a child beside him) driving with his wrist on the wheel - a cool customer.  Flash to years later and he stops by to visit his daughter, living with her hippie friends, for a morning cup of coffee (I made him a smoothie).  I walked him out to his car after.  He put his arm on the wheel, sat there smiling at me, lingered with his hand dangling, and then slowly turned, looking over his shoulder, backed out the drive. 

Thanks Dad.  This memory makes me smile.

Minute to Win it!

Feasting before the fast, we play a quick game of gratitude...in one minute write all you are grateful for, then share with one another.  It's a fun and simple way to honor God's Blessings before the fast.  Just as Jesus entered the desert "full of the Spirit" it is good to recall the fullness of God's love experienced in our lives as we enter a season of simplicity, seeking to deepen that life in us.  I love her list! 
Your turn...what are you grateful for...in one minute?  Go ahead, write it here!



While We All Sup Sorrow with the Poor

 

Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,
While we all sup sorrow with the poor.
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears,
Oh! Hard times, come again no more.

'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door.
Oh Hard times, come again no more

While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay,
There are frail forms fainting at the door.
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say
Oh! hard times, come again no more.

'Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave,
'Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore,
'Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave -
Oh! Hard times, come again no more.

'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days have you lingered around my cabin door.
Oh Hard times, come again no more

Oh! Hard times

For the families and loved ones lost in the Newtown Tragedy

Oireachtas...or Love is like a little boat upon the Sea

A sea of Irish, (yes, here, everyone is Irish no matter where they came from) musicians fill the air with a celtic beat, and there's dancing everywhere; the ballrooms, yes, but also the halls and the stairs, the bathroom and the line at Starbucks, even the elevator, so they had to post this:

It's a rolling sea, waves of wigs toss and bounce, coaches counting out the steps; confident commanders guiding us all, moms bent; pinning and tieing, whisper their assurances, secure the decks...dads stand like masts; strong and steady, catching the changing winds with broad sails.  Friends and family on deck too, waiting, watching. 
There's an arm around each one...then, as if some silent signal blows, they leave the shelter of those who love them, (I see the arms still stretched out as they go, hovering momentarily to wish them well).  Off they go, their sea legs sure, to dance! 
All eyes turn to watch. Hard shoes thunder across the stage...ghillies lift them on an unseen wind, and we, the travelers on this rare ship, watch in amazement, hold our breath, until they return from the other side back to our arms.  It's quite a scene, played over and over morning til night.  It's a pericope of family life, albeit in high drama! 
I overheard one who said it well.  Picture this; a teenage boy, dressed in his dancing best, all glitter and shine, with his Da behind him, hands on his shoulders.  Country Irish, with a heavy brogue, his Da says, "Now remember lad, whatever happens in there, you're still me Jack... you'll always be me Jack."  
Yes...I cried... And thanked the Lord for such traveling companions. 

Every time you leave home
another road takes you
into a world you were never in.

New strangers on other paths await.
New places that have never seen you
will startle a little at your entry
Old places that know you well
will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit...

When you travel,
a new silence
Goes with you.
And if you listen,
you will hear
what your heart would
Love to say.

A journey can become a sacred thing.

Make sure, before you go,
to take the time to bless your going forth,
To free your heart of ballast,
so that the compass of your soul
might direct you towards
the territories of spirit
Where you will discover
more of your hidden life;
and the urgencies
that deserve to claim you...

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed
and live your time away to it's fullest;
Return home, more enriched, and free
to balance the gift of days which call you.

John O'Donahue Benedictus

Cada Cabesa es un Mundo

what does she think as she walks along the sea?

I watch her wander off and wonder what she’ll be.

does she search for seashells

-we’d collected quite a few-

is she content in this moment

or wishing for something to do.

to be alone together, the grace of solitude

to have ones world held in love

and room for it to bloom

cada cabesa es un mundo

(in each head, a whole world)

 what does she think as she walks along the sea?

sun in her face, walking on water.

Lord if I know, I think to myself

as she turns, smiles at me,

beautiful daughter.

Remembering To Be Kind Because We Are Living

We were at home, just the two of us, mother and child.
She is speaking to me from the other room,
(yelling actually) rudely, snappy
and I know this calls for parenting
but instead what I give her is tit for tat,
taking my turn at speaking
(yelling actually) rudely to her, snappy right back at ya.
And then, suddenly I see myself, looking back at me!
Aaargh!
Parenting has so much to teach me and it is relentless in its lessons!
Thank the Lord, my change of heart is swift as I recognize
the error of my ways and with tears and hugs we console one another
and make amends, see where we went wrong and love wins out again.

The next morning we are in the car heading for surf camp and she starts
telling me about a friends surf camp
that was just for kids who’d lost a parent to cancer.
She thought that wasn’t as good as regular camp that’s just fun,
because her friend is always having to remember her mom dying,
and then she said “Her mom was a lot more than just a person who died…
She was a clown!  Isn’t that better to remember?!”
Later in the conversation she tells me about an assignment they had at school.
She can’t recall if it was for reconciliation or the stations of the cross
but each of them had to write a reflection statement
and she remembers exactly what a boy in her class wrote to Jesus,
“When you were living, we treated you badly,
but when you died we laid you down kindly.”
“It’s true, isn’t it,’ she added,
‘we should be kindly to the living, and not just when they die!”
“That’s what we did yesterday, huh?
Remembered to be kind because we are living.”

And she reached over then and took my hand.

SHELTER ISLAND

We’ve had a lovely dinner out

Feasting with family

Joy gathered round the table

Outside our daughter asks to walk about

Not ready for the evening to end

We gather our jackets

Our grown son and newest daughter go to their car

She wants to get the stroller but he says he’ll just carry his son

She smiles at us, “he hasn’t seen him enough today”

And off we go.

Our boy, now papa

Carries his ‘little man’ on his shoulder

Dearest cargo,

He holds him close

Can feel his warmth on his neck

Breathing in his ear.

He looks one way, then the other, back again,

Looks down and across

Double checks the way

Puts his hand firmly on baby’s back

Holds tight to his legs

as he wiggles and  plays

unaware of his papa’s worry.

Nothing can harm him

No car come too close,

No stumbling misstep,

No unforeseen danger from the shadows.

His mama lends her eyes too

And her hand goes up as they cross

Mama sign FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE

Papa sign IT IS NOW SAFE TO CROSS

He steps off the curb

The whole world in his hands

We grab hold too, and step out

Psalm 91:11

For He has sent His angels to watch over you and keep you in all your ways.  They will hold you up in their hands, lest you dash your foot against a stone.

Class Picture, 1954

by Billy Collins

I am the third one
from the left in the third row.

The girl I have been in love with
since the 5th grade is just behind me
to the right, the one with the bangs.

The boy who pushes me down
in the playground
is the last one on the left in the top row.

And my friend Paul is the second one
in the second row, the one
with his collar sticking out, next to the teacher.

But that's not all—
if you look carefully you can see
our house in the background

with its porch and its brick chimney
and up in the clouds
you can see the faces of my parents,

and over there, off to the side,
Superman is balancing
a green car over his head with one hand.