My gorgeous, long-lived peonies.

I see them from my art room window

Bright pink and white spheres of potentiality.

Each day getting a little larger

Until the moment comes

The exquisite unfurling begins.

I keep my fingers crossed

Hoping a heavy downpour

Won’t bow them to the earth.

But if the threat looms,

Those purplish-green clouds

From the southwest pile up,

Then out I will dash, scissors in hand

To clip the heavy blossoms

To create a magnificent bouquet

Of snowy white and vivid magenta.

The flowers will be blooming

Long after I am gone.

This reality comforts me.

Others will enjoy their ephemeral beauty,

Lives I know nothing about.

Eyes that aren’t mine

Will gaze with appreciation

On my breathtaking peonies.

What a gift from Mother Nature.

Why is it so hard to let it out?

To rant, scream, wail, kick a chair?

Don’t cry, that’s a sign of weakness.

Harness your anger, that’s what mature folks do.

Your passions make others feel uncomfortable.

Hold it in.

Repress.

Repression.

Depress.

Depression.

Are feelings our enemies?

Is control the ultimate friend?

If that’s the case, then why are so many people messed-up?

Let it go.

You will heal.

Set it free.

You will soar.

This smiling, tall, handsome German.

As you jovially serve us beer and Flönz sausage,

I wonder:

What is your life like?

Are you really as happy as you seem?

Do you go home to a loving family,

An adoring dog,

A comfortable living space?

Do you consider yourself to be

Fortunate, privileged, #blessed

To live the life you do?

I think of this often as I make my way across the world.

So many amazing, wonderful, beautiful human beings that

I will never know.

* Sonder--The awareness that everyone has a story, from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig

Surprised at first, after weeks of being away

Used to a tiny, too-short single bed

Then I stretch in satisfaction and delight.

My Own Bed!

I turn on the shower

Let the warm sting of water awaken me

Enjoying the stream that’s over my head, not at the chest

Like the shower on the boat.

My Own Shower!

I make my way downstairs

Meowing at the kitty who waits for me there

She loudly meows back, telling me about her night’s adventures.

I have missed her

My Own Lucy!

I see my desk

Ah, my wonderful desk

Just waiting for me to journal at it,

To create, to reflect

My Own Space!

We have changed:

Grown older, greyer, more wrinkled.

Wiser, more content, more accepting.

Have experienced much:

Laughter, some tears, some anger,

But mostly joy and love.

I wouldn’t turn back time

For anything.

The view is always the same: the trees in the front yard, the rocky ledge, the neighbors’ houses, the expanse of sky.

But the details are different.

I’ve noticed this week that every day the trees get a little more colorful as their leaves bud out.

The crimsons are deeper, the chartreuses brighter, the blossoms less tentative.

The birds sing more loudly as they gather food for their newly-hatched offspring.

There are more and more people taking to the street for their morning walks, voices rising and falling as they pass by my window.

I see their hands waving animatedly as they express themselves in the exuberant way some people have.

I can hear the sounds but can’t distinguish the words.
I don’t care to anyway.

I am just an observer, not a participant.

I turn my back on the window and go about my day, reassured that all is well in the world.

Daffodils poke through the loam

She smiles—breathes deeply

He was the last of six children, his Ma’s baby, his Pa’s joy.

He was petted and spoiled by his three oldest sisters and taught how to be a man by watching his two older brothers.

He grew in wisdom and dignity.

In 1949, at the age of 23, he married my mother, Joan.

Seven children followed in quick succession.

Roland and Joan were partners in faith and in love, showing us kids how to love God and each other.

They were dedicated to each other, no matter what troubles came their way.
Never was there a more honest and upright man than my father.

His generosity and decency were humbling to behold.

When my mother died, Dad was bereft.

He lived three years, two months, and one day without her.

He met his God surrounded by his children and grandchildren.

It has been a long ten years without him.

I don’t mean I’ve been good to life--that hasn’t always been the case--but that life has been good to me.

Sure, I’ve had my rough spots, my challenges, but overall there has been more laughter than tears.

More joy than sorrow.

More satisfaction than not.

I know that there will be struggles ahead.

Illnesses, death.

Leavings, grievings.

I do not relish those trials.

I would avoid them if I could.

However, I have no choice but to square my shoulders, take a deep breath, be brave.

And remember all the sunshine, the blue skies, the hugs and kisses, the love.

While I keep striding inexorably toward my future.

After two losses, she, our rainbow baby, is miraculous.

A source of wonder, of delight.

She swoops and flutters and kicks so hard my ribs are bruised,

But I don’t mind.

She is worth the discomfort.

At church, we stand together, little Tricia’s arms around my belly,

Giggling as the baby hiccoughs, shaking us all.

So much pleasure over such a mundane thing.

The memory today makes me smile.

On baby’s due date, we go see The Pet Shop Boys.

We dance to the music feeling joy pulse in our veins.

My mother is not happy.

“What if you go into labor?”

I laugh.

We are steps away from the finest hospitals in the world.

Let the baby come!

But she doesn’t.

We wait ten long days for her to make an appearance,

Growing more eager with time.

At last she is born, on Shakespeare’s day.

This tiny child fated to be a woman of letters.

Our own dear Leah Jane.

I was despondent: who would ever love me, a mom with a 4-month old?

The guys I worked with were either taken or like brothers to me.

Date them? No way.

Meet a nice guy at church? Not my style.

Let my mother fix me up with a friend’s son? Not on your life!

So I decided to place an ad in the Worcester Magazine:

“SWF seeks SM. Must be tall and like kids.”

I don’t remember the other details.

I waited impatiently for the respondents’ letters to come in the mail.

Who would write back?

They knew nothing about me, other than what I wrote in the two-line ad.

No name, no picture, nothing.

There was nothing about enjoying long walks on the beach or disliking shallow people.

Who would be brave enough to take a chance?

Scott, that’s who.

And how fortunate for me!

After two weeks, I knew he was The One.

Five months later, we were engaged.

Six months after that saw us married.

In 1989, he adopted my daughter.

And here we are, decades later, still going strong.

I sometimes wonder, if I was in his shoes, would I have taken on someone else’s child?

Is my heart as big as his?

I’d like to think it is.

I am so thankful he is the accepting human being that he is.

My life is vastly richer because he is in it.

Thunder growls, tumbling across the sky.

Mother hurriedly collects the laundry from the line as she

calls for the children to come inside.

“It’s going to storm.

Hurry home.

Be safe with me.”

We pile into the kitchen, giggling with excitement.

Anticipating the rising wind,

the flashes of lightning,

the crashes of thunder.

We squeal and cover our ears as

Mother rushes us into the cellar

“just in case a tornado comes.”

Sparks dance across the bare pipes.

Shivers of fear progress along my body.

Primordial chill seeps into my bones.

I am reminded that I’m not so far removed from Nature

as the rain gushes down.

Gone farther than any human being has ever traveled

Three men and a woman

Highly educated, heart-breakingly eloquent in their love for our world

Oh, to have such an opportunity

To see our Earth from beyond the Moon

What a privilege

What a sublime experience

It must, has to, change one’s life

To see the vulnerability of our precious blue planet

Wouldn’t you do everything you could

To protect her?

I am left handed. This is true.

I am 6 feet tall. Also true. And I haven’t started shrinking yet!

I am a Taurus. Nope. I’m a Gemini born June 5.

I taught 6th grade. True.

My favorite subject to teach is math. Ugh no. I didn’t have the patience to be a good math teacher. I loved teaching science. Ancient history is runner-up

I’ve been retired for almost 3 years. True. My last day of teaching was June 20, 2023.

I have 3 children. True. Two girls and a boy (although they’re men and women now).

I used to have a dog named Holly. True. She was a rescue, shepherd/beagle mix. Great dog.

I’m from Massachusetts, USA. True. Grew up in Webster, home of Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg (seriously)

I interviewed for a job with the CIA. True. The lie detector test was awful. Do you know how hard it is to remember the exact date you last smoked marijuana?

I went to Boston College. No, Boston University. BC sucks! (at least we thought so)

I was a hair model in college. True. I let them do what they wanted to my hair for a couple of hair shows in Boston.

Basketball is my favorite sport. Not true. Football is my favorite. I don’t play any sports. I’m rather klutzy.

I’ve seen the Tour de France live. Yes! This was so fun. It was on Bastille Day, 2002.

I am a bookworm. I love to read more than just about anything in the world.

I’ve been to Antarctica. Not yet, anyway.

I love making art. Definitely true.

I helped build our screen porch. I did not. I just told the builders what I wanted and let them have at it.

Cats are my favorite pets. True. Although I loved our dog, I am not naturally a dog person. I love the independence of cats.

I have 5 grandchildren. Yes, four girls and one boy. Two are 6 and three are 3. None are twins.

My middle name is Anne. False. I don’t have a middle name. My first name is Carol-Anne. Hyphenated names are a PITA.

Now wasn’t that exciting?

I am left handed.

I am 6 feet tall.

I am a Taurus.

I taught 6th grade.

My favorite subject to teach is math.

I’ve been retired almost 3 years.

I have 3 children.

I used to have a dog named Holly.

I’m from Massachusetts USA.

I interviewed for a job with the CIA.

I went to Boston College.

I was a hair model in college.

Basketball is my favorite sport.

I’ve seen the Tour de France live.

I am a bookworm.

I’ve been to Antarctica.

I love making art.

I helped build our screen porch.

Cats are my favorite pets.

I have 5 grandchildren.

My middle name is Anne.

with a child on her lap.

The epitome of motherhood frozen in porcelain.

He touches her cheek with love.

She wraps him in her arms tenderly.

It is a captivating tableau.

Did she know who He was?

Did He even know who He was?

Or did they just suppose they were ordinary humans?

How does one live a life that is sinless?

At least that is what we were taught to believe about this Mother and Child.

But I struggle with that, I suppose because I am a sinful mortal.

Still, I admire the goodness and kindness these two beings represent,

as they blindly gaze on me, halos gathering dust.

We bend and stretch

Hands to heart center

Breathing deeply

Paying attention to the body

we usually ignore or take for granted

It’s a good sensation, lying here on the mat

Communicating with the Earth beneath our limbs

Caressed by the breezes wafting through

the open windows

Feeling abundantly alive

Joyous in our skin

Make gelli prints on it or

slap acrylic paint on or

sprays of colored inks.

It’s your choice.

The ideas are as varied as there are creative minds that dream.

In other words, infinite.

Cut the papers into shapes, doesn’t matter what.

Save the remaining bits.

Soon there is a pile of ephemera, perfect for collaging.

--Again, it starts with blank paper.

This time use an art journal page.

Come up with a theme or prompt.

Begin creating the artwork.

It’s a gluey, messy process, but so much fun.

The hours fly by.

At last it’s finished.

You’ll never be able to replicate the piece.

It’s unique.

And uniquely yours.

Is to be ready to laugh.

To giggle at foolishness.

To revel in the comedy that is life.

To love my love

Is to explore the world.

To see things with new eyes.

To be aware of the beauty in unfamiliar places.

To walk where you’ve never walked before.

To love my love

Is to watch the Tour de France.

To chase news helicopters through the French countryside.

To cheer for the three seconds it takes for the

peloton to pass.

To cozy up on the couch and watch the highlights of

the day’s race.

To love my love

Is to wave him off to Scotland.

To golf the hallowed courses that fire

his imagination.

To walk with him at Pebble Beach, at Augusta National,

at Royal Troon.

To appreciate the skill required to sink a small white ball into a

tiny hole in the grass.

To love my love

Is to widen my horizons.

To enjoy and appreciate my life with him.

To revel in our companionship.

To remain committed until

we die.

knee to knee.

United in sisterhood,

devoted to creating.

We laugh as we share,

oohing and aahing over each other’s work.

Encouraging, guiding, reassuring

as we work our way through our endeavor,

together.

We end our time with Show and Tell,

bid fond farewells,

exchange fierce hugs.

It is a precious time,

lighthearted yet deeply meaningful.

Something to look forward to

all month long:

this treasured gathering of extraordinary women.