Poipu Beach, Kauai

1/24/2011

Plunked down in paradise, I’m giddy with joy!
Senses overwhelmed by each flower and bird;

the waters, the sands.
Live-giving, healing;

magically nurturing a parched soul and spirit.
Yet, suddenly…

***

My thoughts are filled with you, Daddy.
Blue ocean churning; Kauai sun burning.

***

Savoring the warmth of Poipu’s sands beneath my striped towel,
my eyes close, fully relaxed...

I recall, acutely, the texture of your skin.
The hair on your aged forearms;
your hands…
each finger,
with nails still, enviously, tapered and strong.

***

My thoughts are filled with you, Daddy.
Blue ocean churning; Kauai sun burning.

***

Rite Aid Apple Lotion, becomes a holy thurible,

drawing me back in time.
Were you still there,

feeling its coolness on your feverish skin?
Was it for you or for me, those simple, final offerings?

***

My thoughts are filled with you, Daddy.
Blue ocean churning; Kauai sun burning.

***

Startled, in the midst of joy. Why here; why today?
Oh…yes…to the very day: four weeks.
And, tears, a surprise, as I don’t…cry.
At least not here, openly.
Almost never, and yet,

fumbling for a gritty napkin,
salty rivulets flow.
Oh, my thoughts are filled with you, Daddy.
Blue ocean churning; Kauai sun burning.

***

Christmas Eve…was it only last month

or a millennium ago?
The final days, your parched lips struggling to whisper,
“Thank you, my Sweetheart”.
Agonizing hours spent watching over your cachexic body.
Bravely releasing your oneness with earth,

you surrendered to the unknown,
while I, earthbound, stayed tethered.

***

Now, my thoughts are filled with you, Daddy.
Blue ocean churning; Kauai sun burning.

***

You appear when least expected, heralded, always,

by guttural Cheyne-Stokes breathing,
forever imprinted in my brain.
Maybe, tomorrow, first thoughts will skip to Maine,

your thick, whitehair tousled by spring winds.
How easily, I could remember your emotions in D.C.,

upon viewing the WW II Memorial.
Or, happy thought, your joy, in Boston,

on that misty Fourth of July.
But, for today…I won’t turn away. I will stay…here.

***

My thoughts are filled with you, dear Daddy.
Blue ocean churning;
Kauai sun burning…
tears flowing.

Yes...oh, yes

A whisper, no more than...a pause in time.

He left us.

His body, yearning for freedom, took its time...

grasping earth's limitations 'til each beloved one arrived

with

hugs,

weeping

and

fond laughter...

oh, yes.

**********

Humbly unwilling to voice the inner determination,

his life spoke volumes....

Yes, I will work faithfully, providing for my family.

Yes, I will love from my heart, unafraid of sentimentality.

Yes, I can crack-up my family with corny jokes and word-plays.

Yes, I will be a proud WWII Veteran against war.

Yes, I will be here for

my wife,

my children,

my grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Yes, I will quietly walk with my God.

**********

Yes, to France, Mt. Whitney and Kentucky.

Yes, to the Grand Canyon, Maine, New York; and D.C.;

to Boston on the Fourth of July!

Yes, to cross-country trips,

graduations, weddings and births.

**********

Yes, to fearlessly striking up meaningful conversations.

From his grand children's friends, to the mail lady.

From fellow hikers,

to the Egyptian gentleman on an unsavory commuter bus

traveling from NYC to Bayone, NJ.

From skinny dippers at the base of the Grand Canyon,

to waitresses at "Helen's Restaurant" in Machias, ME,

and, Mary, our favorite, at the "Depot Diner" in Beverly, MA.

Sincerely interested, his humble, inclusive demeanor

always resulted in shared dialog,

regardless of opinions, lifestyles or religious views.

Yes, to treasured interactions...yes.

**********

A Christmas Eve whisper...a breath...a pause in time.

He left us.

A cachexic body, longing for its freedom...slipped away.

Beyond our grief, the world rushes on...

Yet, in quietness,

eternal integrates into mortal,

infusing each of us with his blessed YES,

now...and forevermore.

Fabulous sunset photographed

on Upper Lopez Canyon Rd.

November 2010.

Words fail...

Significance
　
Creation’s vastness reverberates, often uncomfortably,
within our humanity, our smallness,
our sense of significance.
Deepest chasms, highest peaks,
endless sky and untamed seas,
all unknown,
beyond our comprehension.

What of a person,
a solitary life,
no more than a speck--insignificant?
Womb crystals we are,
infused with emotions rivaling Everest;
awash in longings tangible as rain.
What of our magical brain tissue and fired-off synapses,
housed in protective bone…does anyone care?

Breathless at the top of another long hill,
I spy, there!, amid the tangled brush
edging a lonely road: beauty!
Clusters of many tiny pink-cream flowers
marching in perfect intervals up dry, white stems.
Each pale flower, separately lovely, lightly scented,
Yet one within its cluster.

Insignificant? Minute? Unworthy of attention?
Painted with a skillful joy-brush, ever painstakingly,
each tiny, flowered miracle opens in response to its Creator.
My heart begs, “Am I not of more value than these?”
In my pain and my struggling,
in each tentative, healing step,
or with arms wide open to peaceful joy?

Myriad leaves shout their answers; each flower whispers, Yes!
Songbirds trill out symphonies; varied grasses hum in tune.
Ancient oaks reach out to comfort; scuttling quail cluck, “We know, too!”
Breathe in deep assurance, from creation’s endless song:
you are significant,

as you are;

ever purposefully led,
gently sustained,
tenderly held…
and
one with all of these.
　

For Bill...fondly

Remembering...this year, though often unaware, entangled in the present. A date etched in memory, "Oh yes, Bill's birthday."

Remembering...this year, hundreds of moments forming the timeless essence of you. Work shirts monogrammed with CFL, my first time ever inside a big rig parked in front of the house on Walnut Street, the scent of tobacco in the cab. Gruffness and caring, yes, I knew, I knew you cared.

Remembering...this year, the wrenching grief, the regrets...the if onlys, as you said good-bye to Nancy. We stumbled through; you lost your way. Stacks of unopened mail, soiled clothing, wilting vegetables from the loading dock...agonizing reminders of what was and what could never be again.

Remembering...this year, the joy...healed through a second love, whom we tried to accept. You blossomed and bloomed, living fully in that teeming city, with your Love, no longer lonely. We smiled when you visited, looking ten years younger, clad in sophistication, but the same old Bill.

Remembering...this year, the assurance you would watch over our little girl as she began college in Manhattan. How she loved reconnecting with a grand-dad always too far away. Such concern those first days , how you helped me move her in and showed us the city; your slacks slipping off your thin frame in the college elevator, your dentures clacking as we ate lunch, your inability to manage time restraints...sweet memories, all.

Remembering...this year, how we knew. We knew you were too thin, and that cough..we knew. All the phone calls, the prayers, the encouragement, while the big"C" stole you, painfully, away. Beckie trudged the city streets weeping, though she had spent hours by your side, and knew it was "only a matter of time."

Twelve years have come and gone, Bill. Would it please you to know we carry on? At moments you are alive in each of us when the spark of memory flames. Your son, almost your clone, carries valiantly on. The ragged tear in his soul filled with the scent of diesel fuel and a nightly cigar, identical to yours. Until I understood, I complained.
Only a touchstone they are,
a reaching for your hand across time...
and...
remembering.

Evensong

A record-breaking heat spell kept me out on our deck until dark yesterday evening. Weary from a long day at work, watering my drooping plants revived my spirits. As I was spraying all the plants on the deck, two hummingbirds zipped and zoomed and chatted nearby. Realizing they were as hot as I was, I began to spray them as they sat on the branches of the nearby elderberry. They preened and squeaked and lifted their wings appreciatively in the fine mist, while I watched, spellbound, until my thumb tired of pressing on the hose.
In the deepening dusk, several lovely mule deer, young bucks and does, came to our water trough, then stayed close to munch on fallen acorns, unafraid of my presence just above them. A dozen or so wild turkeys have chosen the huge oak above the deck as their bedroom and it was quite amusing to see them get a running start and awkwardly fly up into the branches, settling themselves for the night. As the stars revealed themselves, crickets began playing their joyous music in 4/4 time. Pungently scented by various chaparral flora, night gently descended upon Camp French.
Bliss...

Treasure

Books are a gift, a glittering present to one's self.
Treasures, borne from the soul of another, spill out into well-shaped words, resting naked and ever so vulnerable on smooth paper.

Visually caressing the cover and bindings, the bookworm quivers in anticipation.
With enormous tactile pleasure, sensitive fingers eagerly smooth back the cover, inhaling the scent of creativity, at once both familiar and comforting.

Oh, the world rushes on...who cares? Politicians and pundits yammer on to audiences unknown...tomorrow, I'll listen.
Curled up for now in a favorite place, a purring Smokey on my lap, I am comfy and settled.
Ahhh, such delight...my life-long pleasure: just me, my cat and a brand new book!