When it was time for the first day of kindergarten
I was home in bed with pneumonia
So I started two weeks later than everyone else
I wish I had caught up with life, but don’t think I have
When I finally arrived I was asked to draw a picture
Red and blue lines scribbled on the page in a meaningless way
But I was asked to explain so I said it was a roadmap
I wish I had the ability to draw a roadmap for life
Each of us had to bring from home a nap mat
Mine was a multi-colored plaid like a Scottish cloth
Those were the days when a mid-morning nap was required
I wish I had the time now to take mid-morning naps
On the playground my favorite game was freeze tag
As the “It” moved to touch me I bent my head slightly
I was so short that the “it” missed and I freed everyone
I wish I had the ability to avoid being frozen and to save everyone
One day I was dressed in my white clam-diggers
Three quarter length pants with a red stripe on each leg
I was so proud of the outfit until I looked back at the pictures
I wish I had a better sense of style then and now
When I spoke my name (then) Ronnie, it was heard by others as Lonnie
So saying my name and certain words became frustrating
But a speech teacher taught me to pronounce and endure
I wish I had a life teacher as I continue to mature
Kindergarten was a time for beginnings
A time for dreaming without limits
A time when all one’s dreams had time to come true
I wish I had more time for dreaming and more time for the dreams to come true.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Rambling Random Thoughts
Perhaps we are being moved along on the field of life
Like plastic football player pieces on a vibrating board
Like a fallen leaf floating down the meandering stream
Like a plastic wrapper blown aimlessly by the wind
If we live our lives only looking forward
Without looking at where we have been
We will be like the foolish women
Who would only fly toward the west
Appearance versus reality
Important to consider as are
Beautiful lies and ugly truths
Sad births and joyful deaths
Unjust rewards and undeserved losses
Pure black being the absence of anything
White being the combination of all
Like plastic football player pieces on a vibrating board
Like a fallen leaf floating down the meandering stream
Like a plastic wrapper blown aimlessly by the wind
If we live our lives only looking forward
Without looking at where we have been
We will be like the foolish women
Who would only fly toward the west
Appearance versus reality
Important to consider as are
Beautiful lies and ugly truths
Sad births and joyful deaths
Unjust rewards and undeserved losses
Pure black being the absence of anything
White being the combination of all
War and Games
The room was filled with nervous yet enthusiastic sixteen-year-old faces
Starring intently at the computer projections on the wall-sized screen
Showing the path toward their college adventures
Toward their glorious glorified educational futures
Soon they will be home ensconced in their electronic laden rooms
Playing Nintendo war games where the buildings are demolished
Where the bodies are torn apart and the blood is splashed endlessly
Until the game is reset and all is as it was
Elsewhere a room is filled with nervous unenthusiastic slightly older faces
Starring intently at the computer projections on a wall-sized screen
Showing the computer-line paths of the missiles guided
Toward their unaware targets with soon to be terminated futures.
After their shifts they will be home in the company of wives and children
Leaving behind their real war modified-Nintendo controls
The game-like pictures where buildings are demolished
Where bodies are torn apart and blood is splashed endlessly
But there is no reset and all will never be as it was.
This entry was based on a presentation at my son's school and an NPR story about fighting wars with computer technology.
Starring intently at the computer projections on the wall-sized screen
Showing the path toward their college adventures
Toward their glorious glorified educational futures
Soon they will be home ensconced in their electronic laden rooms
Playing Nintendo war games where the buildings are demolished
Where the bodies are torn apart and the blood is splashed endlessly
Until the game is reset and all is as it was
Elsewhere a room is filled with nervous unenthusiastic slightly older faces
Starring intently at the computer projections on a wall-sized screen
Showing the computer-line paths of the missiles guided
Toward their unaware targets with soon to be terminated futures.
After their shifts they will be home in the company of wives and children
Leaving behind their real war modified-Nintendo controls
The game-like pictures where buildings are demolished
Where bodies are torn apart and blood is splashed endlessly
But there is no reset and all will never be as it was.
This entry was based on a presentation at my son's school and an NPR story about fighting wars with computer technology.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
A Final Resting Place
As we drove into the cemetery, my thoughts were not of the scene that I was about to witness, the one that in my early death related experiences had been both frightening and sad, the one that was so hard when I had visualized it many times in my mind as I tried to "test" rational thoughts about death against emotion. My focus was on the workers who guarded the hillside dotted with ground level memorial plaques like facial chicken pox scars and one open wound being the grave that had been dug. Standing motionless at the foot of the hill was the sandy-hair, tall, lanky boy/man in his over-sized gym shorts, dirty tee-shirt and sockless sneakers. Nearer to the dirt mounds that marked the location of the six foot waiting hole were two farm boy grave diggers who looked like twins in their faded blue overalls, beards of the type one sees on hillbillies and orthodox men, sweat stained plaid shirts, and bulging bellies, differentiated only by a single undone shoulder strap on one. I knew that these men could not be permitted to complete the burial task. The honor of doing so would rest with the family and not theses strange strangers.
The procession moved at cemetery speed around the paved loop. After parking and taking a deep emotion calming breath, I walked behind the coffin between the grandchildren who served as loving and respectful guardian escorts to the final physical resting place. Though they stood with solemn faces, Mary would have been as pleased and smiled. As the adult family members, Annie, Marsha, Mark, Robin and I took placed in front of the open grave above which the plain wood coffin was suspended on two taut nylon strips, my loving wife, Debbie, recognizing that there were not enough chairs, stood behind me with her hands resting lightly on my shoulders, conveying both comfort and her own pain.
The power of the coffin with its known contents drew my full visual attention and the meaningless sounds of the mournful Hebrew prayers filled my ears. Then the world became silent and motionless except for the steps of the as he approached the burial mechanism, leaned down and turned the pitted silver lever. As I placed my arms around Mark and Marsha, and the green straps on which the coffin rested began to unwind slowly, but without hesitation, lowering the coffin into the ground. The act was not as hard as I thought it would be for perhaps I was too well prepared.
Once the coffin had reached the bottom and bonded with the ground, and the strange strangers had removed the straps, each of the burial witnesses took a turn at placing dirt into the grave and onto the coffin with the shovel turned upside down to symbolize the reluctance and sadness of the participant. The first clumps of dirt sent forth a thud as they hit the partially hallow wood enclosure. The sounds vanished as the wood disappeared.
Usurping the role of the strange strangers, the sons, grandsons and nephews filled the remainder of the grave, shoveling with strength and energy (the reluctance and sadness remaining inside) until it was level with the unnatural landscape and their shoes were coated with a mud that would dry and remain long after the day was but a memory. While others were finishing the loving task, I knelt and paid respect at my father's grave immediately beside the woman who he had loved, reading the carved words carefully, but not speaking to Dad as I had done on my last visit. Then, as a final act, Marsha, Mark, Annie and I stood before the freshly disbursed earth, turned like a Nebraska field ready to be planted with a new crop, and fulfilled one of Mom's "funeral" wishes. Mark spoke a few words about Mom's love of Israel and her desire that the final earth placed on her grave be the soil of Israel she had purchased for this very purpose so many years ago. Mark opened the bag, sprinkled some of its contents, and then Marsha, I and Annie did the same. Finally, Mark spoke of how this product of Omaha, Nebraska had returned to the home she loved and had longed for the past few years that she lived in a nursing home in St. Paul. And with the mention of home, my mind wandered to earlier times.
To Be Continued
The procession moved at cemetery speed around the paved loop. After parking and taking a deep emotion calming breath, I walked behind the coffin between the grandchildren who served as loving and respectful guardian escorts to the final physical resting place. Though they stood with solemn faces, Mary would have been as pleased and smiled. As the adult family members, Annie, Marsha, Mark, Robin and I took placed in front of the open grave above which the plain wood coffin was suspended on two taut nylon strips, my loving wife, Debbie, recognizing that there were not enough chairs, stood behind me with her hands resting lightly on my shoulders, conveying both comfort and her own pain.
The power of the coffin with its known contents drew my full visual attention and the meaningless sounds of the mournful Hebrew prayers filled my ears. Then the world became silent and motionless except for the steps of the as he approached the burial mechanism, leaned down and turned the pitted silver lever. As I placed my arms around Mark and Marsha, and the green straps on which the coffin rested began to unwind slowly, but without hesitation, lowering the coffin into the ground. The act was not as hard as I thought it would be for perhaps I was too well prepared.
Once the coffin had reached the bottom and bonded with the ground, and the strange strangers had removed the straps, each of the burial witnesses took a turn at placing dirt into the grave and onto the coffin with the shovel turned upside down to symbolize the reluctance and sadness of the participant. The first clumps of dirt sent forth a thud as they hit the partially hallow wood enclosure. The sounds vanished as the wood disappeared.
Usurping the role of the strange strangers, the sons, grandsons and nephews filled the remainder of the grave, shoveling with strength and energy (the reluctance and sadness remaining inside) until it was level with the unnatural landscape and their shoes were coated with a mud that would dry and remain long after the day was but a memory. While others were finishing the loving task, I knelt and paid respect at my father's grave immediately beside the woman who he had loved, reading the carved words carefully, but not speaking to Dad as I had done on my last visit. Then, as a final act, Marsha, Mark, Annie and I stood before the freshly disbursed earth, turned like a Nebraska field ready to be planted with a new crop, and fulfilled one of Mom's "funeral" wishes. Mark spoke a few words about Mom's love of Israel and her desire that the final earth placed on her grave be the soil of Israel she had purchased for this very purpose so many years ago. Mark opened the bag, sprinkled some of its contents, and then Marsha, I and Annie did the same. Finally, Mark spoke of how this product of Omaha, Nebraska had returned to the home she loved and had longed for the past few years that she lived in a nursing home in St. Paul. And with the mention of home, my mind wandered to earlier times.
To Be Continued
Saturday, January 10, 2009
All Is Good
The plane lands softly on the concrete runway and the landscape speeds by in a blur while off in the distance the buildings seem to hold their position although the angle changes little by little. Eventually the doorway opens and one by one the passengers step from the fuselage to the walkway to the terminal and toward their destinations. Soon she moves from the warmth into the cold air and into loving arms. It is good to be back home.
As she loads her bags into the car, the motion of her precious one causes the carrier to tumble to the ground, but the almost pure white puppy takes the fall in stride and dishes out kisses without end.
Soon she arrives at the house that had been left only a few months before. The population explodes to six plus seven. Mother, father, brother, brother, grandfather and she make up the six. Large dog, medium dog, small dog, and two tiny dogs, as well as two cats make up the seven. The house is full and the warmth flows . . . all is good as they light the first candles of Hanukkah celebrating her arrival . . . once again . . . the twenty-fifth celebration.
How quickly the time passes . . .
So much to do
So much done
So much left undone
So much to say
So much said
So much left to say
So many to see
So many seen
So many unseen
So much love to give
So much love given
So much love received
So much love
The interactions span the range of possibilities . . . all of the combinations of people and animals . . . the good, the bad, the ugly and the elegant. A lifetime compressed into a three week period – real time – but in reality just three weeks, not a lifetime.
Soon, in just hours, she will leave the house behind once more, but she knows that it is but a temporary departure, not a final farewell or even a long-term good-bye, simply a see you soon . . . until next time.
She knows that . . .
there will be tears
some will flow within
some will flow for all to see
for the feelings run deep.
She knows that . . .
the comings and the goings are a way of life
the modern marvels of communication reduce the distance
nothing compares to or can replace a hand held or a kiss
or the feeling of shared tears,
or the warmth of a hug or cuddle
but they all linger long and are not forgotten
She knows that . . .
for a while all will be shared in time limited periods
love and communication, the building blocks and cement of relationships, overcome distance
she is loved and she loves.
She knows that . . .
she carries her life with her
she has the life of her original home
she has the life of her new home
she has her old friends
she has her new friends
she has her loving family always
she has room for everyone and everything without one diminishing the other.
So as she packs and departs with a mixture of emotions, she know that . . .
she is loved
she loves
she is loved
and that there will be so many more times together as life moves forward in its unending progression.
All is good. All is good.
As she loads her bags into the car, the motion of her precious one causes the carrier to tumble to the ground, but the almost pure white puppy takes the fall in stride and dishes out kisses without end.
Soon she arrives at the house that had been left only a few months before. The population explodes to six plus seven. Mother, father, brother, brother, grandfather and she make up the six. Large dog, medium dog, small dog, and two tiny dogs, as well as two cats make up the seven. The house is full and the warmth flows . . . all is good as they light the first candles of Hanukkah celebrating her arrival . . . once again . . . the twenty-fifth celebration.
How quickly the time passes . . .
So much to do
So much done
So much left undone
So much to say
So much said
So much left to say
So many to see
So many seen
So many unseen
So much love to give
So much love given
So much love received
So much love
The interactions span the range of possibilities . . . all of the combinations of people and animals . . . the good, the bad, the ugly and the elegant. A lifetime compressed into a three week period – real time – but in reality just three weeks, not a lifetime.
Soon, in just hours, she will leave the house behind once more, but she knows that it is but a temporary departure, not a final farewell or even a long-term good-bye, simply a see you soon . . . until next time.
She knows that . . .
there will be tears
some will flow within
some will flow for all to see
for the feelings run deep.
She knows that . . .
the comings and the goings are a way of life
the modern marvels of communication reduce the distance
nothing compares to or can replace a hand held or a kiss
or the feeling of shared tears,
or the warmth of a hug or cuddle
but they all linger long and are not forgotten
She knows that . . .
for a while all will be shared in time limited periods
love and communication, the building blocks and cement of relationships, overcome distance
she is loved and she loves.
She knows that . . .
she carries her life with her
she has the life of her original home
she has the life of her new home
she has her old friends
she has her new friends
she has her loving family always
she has room for everyone and everything without one diminishing the other.
So as she packs and departs with a mixture of emotions, she know that . . .
she is loved
she loves
she is loved
and that there will be so many more times together as life moves forward in its unending progression.
All is good. All is good.
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