Little Emily’s nose crunched as she bent down to examine the deep red rose petals creating a carpet leading to the wedding arch. With her right hand, the toddler carefully arranged one petal after another until they were perfectly aligned. The gathered celebrants smiled as the wedding photographer knelt, then lay on the grass, snapping one shot after another, capturing that moment, when she should have been following the bride and groom.
Whispers in the silent night
Tender touches by starlight
Words unsaid in angry voice
Actions fulfilled by free choice
Love’s strong arms held open wide
Know that God walks stride by stride
Watches like a parent proud
Mistakes expected: allowed
Understanding, patient, kind
Always there for us to find
Calls our names in winters wild
In spring, He gifts breezes mild
Summer’s heat sends us outside
God’s gifts in flowers abide
Rains remind of deep pain felt
Tragic death, deftly dealt
All these things, of faith speak
Comfort to all those who seek
God’s good grace, offered free
Sin’s release, for you and me
Faith defined in little things
Given by the King of kings
We attended a family gathering over Thanksgiving to honor the life of a member who recently passed. Over thirty people came, all family or adopted family. The overall tenor was calm, relaxed, gentle, peaceful. A few tempers arose but were quickly settled.
There was food to share, games to play, a slide show to watch and caroling. My grandkids entertained us playing Christmas songs, not all in tune. It made no difference as they were sharing.
Mass was held during which the chorister invited two of my grandchildren, one playing the viola, the other the trumpet, to accompany him. I got to sing as well as another of my grandchildren.
The mood was solemn, respectful as we sat out on the deck in 69 degree temperatures! Much warmer than at home.
At the conclusion of the service, my SIL invited everyone to share a good memory they had of her husband. The comments ranged from teaching kids to be safe on the water, his enthusiasm for nature, and his love of his wife. I shared that his ability to recall and discuss practically everything he read, was amazing.
When my turn comes, I might like something similar. A gathering of friends and family who come together to share food, games, music and stories. A Mass would be center. And I’d love it if some of my choir members would sing my favorite church hymns.
I don’t want anything huge or ornate. A simple ceremony would suffice.
I’m not planning on leaving soon. I wouldn’t have undergone surgery if I expected to die right away. But you never know. A bus could ram into my car on the way to the gym. A sudden stroke could fell me in my sleep (I like the idea of dying in my sleep!)
That doesn’t mean that I can’t think about how I’d like the gathering to be. The one I just attended would be a great beginning.
How would you like to be memorialized?
Explore with me the rows and rows of roses.
Their faces turned toward the sun
Blossoms so tiny you could cradle the entire
Bush in the palm of your hand.
Others the size of dinner plates,
So heavy the stalks bend,
Turning their centers toward the ground.
Life-giving ground.
Nutrients galore.
Water drawn out of hidden wells.
Come with me to visit the roses
The shy ones, colors so feint it’s hard to
Distinguish where one ends and the next begins.
The vibrant ones
That scream, look at me, look at me,
And you do.
They have wonderful stories,
The ancient ones, the ones whose roots
Go back millennium.
I want to sit at their feet and listen.
Listen to tales of woe, of joy,
Of growth, of success
Allow them to fill my soul with joy.
An ever-abundant happiness
That will last for weeks, months, years.
They aren’t modest at all.
They flash their colors to the world
Inviting all to stop, stare, breathe in their heady scent.
Roses follow the sun. Opening at dawn,
Closing at sunset, rejoicing during the day.
I want to emulate them. Perhaps I do.
Dear Judy Blume:
Thanks for all the wonderful stories that you’ve written for young people. You put into words their thoughts and fears, their worries as well as things they celebrate.
Your characters are fully-formed, making them realistic representations of children that age.
I’m sorry that some find your topics threatening and so have organized book bans, pulling your work off library shelves.
I wonder what that feels like? To have poured heart and soul into writing, hoping it reaches your intended audience, receiving accolades for your work, then suddenly finding yourself as a “hared” author. It must be disheartening.
We can hope that as time passes, saner individuals will restore your stories to their rightful spots on shelves. That once again young people, especially girls, will see themselves reflected in your work, reflected in your characters.
Thanks for giving the world topics that are timely, meaningful and accessible to a wide variety of readers.
Does breath crystalize and fertilize the earth?
Is the soul really tender, breakable?
Or is it strong, strong like iron,
Able to withstand hurt?
Why do lambs cry all the time?
Why do they need the company of others
More than life itself?
Why aren’t humans like them?
Why do we move through life
Cherishing independence, reveling in the ability
To stand on one’s own two feet
Without once, just once, needing
The help of others?
Why do white swans choose the company of other white swans?
Shouldn’t a black one be equally attractive?
Or perhaps more so because of its difference?
Or is there something inside that moves one to select
Ones like itself?
What does that mean for humans?
If anything?
Why do hummingbirds’ wings beat so fast?
Is it out of fear?
Self-reliance?
Or simply because that’s the way things are meant to be?
Why do bears hibernate?
Is it the call of winter?
Something in the air tells them to hunker up,
To settle down before snows fall?
Or is it a need for deep sleep?
Why don’t people do the same?
Close windows and doors
Pull up the comforters
Turn up the heater
Stock up the cabinets
And not go outside for months?
Is it because bears are comfortable in their hides
While people need to lean on others?
People must feel, touch, hold
Cherish, react, love
While bears intrinsically know
That they are okay.
What about stones, tiny and large
Who sit alone along paths.
Do they feel alone?
Do they yearn for the weight of their kind?
Do they fear floating off into space
Unless something grounds them?
While butterflies flight about,
Seemingly without care or direction
Here, there, everywhere on a whim
Lighter than air
Stronger than a breeze
Able to withstand storms
That might send stones tumbling downhill.
So many unanswered questions
So many unanswerable questions
That change nothing
That influence nothing
Not even the beating of my heart.
Consider, no acknowledge,
That there are alternate kingdoms.
The planets come to mind.
Swirling masses of rack and glass
Floating around us
None have been identified as hosting life
Yet there could be
Could have been
Creatures crawling, flying, digging
Multiplying, colonizing
Creating kingdoms of their own
Wriggling in the waters swirling
Below in lakes and streams and creeks
A variety of beings build homes
Reproduce
Celebrating love and life and family
Much as humans do,
But in their words, their thoughts,
Their beliefs.
Flowers and bushes and trees
Send their spores into the void
Populating unoccupied spaces
With vibrant hues of greens, browns,
Reds, ochres
Which then become homes for others
Usually not by choice,
But needed, necessary to foster
New lives, new families, new clusters.
Creeping, crawling, walking, stomping
Through it all are beings with legs
Or no legs
Wings or no wings
Breathing air, inhaling pollutants
That humans have created,
Thinking only of themselves
Their needs, their desires,
Of only what they perceive their lives should be
The world, the kingdom, expands and contracts,
Breathing its own rhythm
Pulsing life-giving blood and fluids
Across the lands, skies, waters
Sharing common space without consideration
For impact, for change, for unwanted influence
On other lives
On other kingdoms
Her life with us was short,
Only three years
Her golden years.
She followed us around,
Slept on our laps,
Begged for food and love.
But she hurt.
Day and night she cried
In pain.
So hard to hear,
Knowing there was nothing I could do
Except love her and comfort her.
A time comes to say goodbye.
Unfortunately I wasn’t prepared.
Not after only three years!
She was twelve when we adopted her,
Already a senior cat.
But, oh so sweet!
Kind. Patient. Loving.
Fun to watch when the zoomies
Sent her flying all over the house.
Demanding when she expected food.
Loved her treats!
Noon every day we had to give her something special.
It’s just been minutes,
But already the house feels empty.
My heart will heal.
I will adopt another senior cat.
But until then, I will mourn.
Goodbye, Bingo!
Looking at Why We Give Presents—and What Can Go Wrong
Gift giving is something pretty much everyone does, no matter where you’re from. Whether it’s for birthdays, holidays, or just because, giving and getting presents is a part of life. It usually makes people happy and brings us closer together, but sometimes it can get a little complicated. Let’s take a look at the good sides and the not-so-great parts of giving gifts.
Giving someone a present is a simple way to show you care. It can help build stronger bonds and make people feel loved or appreciated. Whether it’s family, friends, or coworkers, a thoughtful gift can go a long way in making your connection even better.
Handing out gifts encourages people to be generous and thankful. It feels good to give, and it feels good to be given something nice. A well-chosen gift can make someone’s day and even help you feel happier too.
A lot of cultures have special traditions for gift giving—think Christmas, weddings, or big life events. These moments bring people together and help everyone feel connected to their community.
Picking out a gift (when you’re not rushing) means you have to think about what the person actually likes or needs. It’s a great way to practice being thoughtful and pay attention to what’s going on in other people’s lives.
Let’s face it—gifts can get expensive. Big holidays or special events sometimes make people feel like they have to buy fancy stuff they can’t really afford. This can lead to stress or even spending money you shouldn’t.
Sometimes your gift doesn’t quite land. Maybe you guessed wrong about what someone wanted, or maybe they just don’t like surprises. The wrong gift can make things awkward or even upset someone.
There are times when people give gifts because it’s expected, not because they genuinely want to. Feeling like you “have to” can take away the fun and make the whole thing feel less special.
All the wrapping paper, bags, and packaging that comes with gifts can create a lot of trash. Plus, buying and shipping stuff takes energy and resources, which isn’t always great for the planet.
Gift giving is a tradition that can make life sweeter and relationships more meaningful. But it’s not always sunshine and rainbows—sometimes it’s stressful, expensive, or even a little wasteful. The best gifts are the ones given with real thought and care, not just because you feel like you have to. So next time you’re wrapping something up, remember: it’s the kindness behind the gift that really counts.
**All in all, this is not an awful essay. It was completely generated by AI,so I make no claim as to authorship.
This was an experiment. I used to teach high school students with learning disabilities. Using AI, they can now generate reports acceptable in their classes. Unfortunately, I takes no effort from them and most likely doesn’t use words or phrases they normally include in their work.
I haven’t sat down with her and discussed her life.
I wonder where she was before she came to live with us.
Was her owner kind?
Did she feed the cat her favorite food?
Brush her fur?
Take her to the vet?
Bingo talks all the time.
She complains about food she doesn’t like.
She meows when she wants more than what we give her.
She yodels after pooping…is that her pride coming out?
Bingo’s vocabulary isn’t one I know or could master in a college class.
Nevertheless, I think I know what she’s saying.
Bingo, despite her age, can still leap onto kitchen counters
Squeeze into tiny places
Sleep on top of the oven or curled up inside the fruit bowl.
We couldn’t find her one day. Searched all her usual spots.
Found her in the coat closet, behind the vacuum cleaner.
Bingo must not have liked that hiding place, as she has never gone back there.
I like when she gets close enough that I can rub the top of her head.
Scratch under her chin. Run my hands down her back,
Even though feeling her spine worries me.
Bingo just turned fifteen.
How much longer will we have her?
She appears healthy, but we know that her kidneys are impacted.
Her teeth are badly in need of brushing,
But to do so, she’d have to be put under.
That’s too risky at her age.
Sometimes Bingo takes a stroll in front of my computer.
She’ll stand blocking my view of the monitor.
Or sit on the keyboard.
Or in my lap.
Making it impossible for me to work.
But I don’t care because she makes me smile.
Her purr warms my heart, makes me feel needed.
There’s something special about a cat’s love.
They take more than they give.
They offer tidbits of acceptance,
But we gush over them, brag about them,
Share photos of them, tell stories about them
As if they are our kids.
They are, in a way.
The only part of Halloween that I ever liked was the endless pursuit of free candy. From the time my brother and I were in middle school in rural Ohio, we roamed miles from home. We walked on streets whose names I never knew, knocking on the doors of anyone with lights still on. It took us hours, and at times our pillow case sacks were so heavy that we had no option but to go home, empty them out, then head out again.
I hated wearing costumes. Perhaps because I wore glasses, masks blocked my sight. I detested makeup and most of all, despised trying to come up with something to wear that could become a costume. My fallback was that of a hobo as all I had to do to play the part was put on my well-worn overalls.
When I was thirteen my middle school decided that for Halloween, all students had to dress in costume. I immediately panicked. It was bad enough to traverse my neighborhood under cover of darkness, but now I would have to parade about campus under the horrific glare of fluorescent lights.
I stewed over this for days.
I was a painfully shy, the girl who never raised her hand to ask or answer questions. I slithered down in my desk seat, my nose skimming the top of my desk, believing that if I couldn’t see the teacher, she couldn’t see me.
Dressing up at school had the potential to sink me even lower on the social scale, especially if I appeared in an unpopular or outmoded costume.
When the day arrived, the only thing I could come up with was my mother’s WAC (Women’s Army Corp) uniform from World War II. It fit a bit snug, but I figured I could tolerate anything for the length of the festivities.
In the morning I squeezed into the uniform, then trudged off to the bus stop. I was used to belittling looks, so the shrugs and smirks had little impact.
However, what seemed like a good idea in the morning, quickly became a terrifying experience at school.
My teacher, thrilled to see the old uniform, made me stand in front of the class and share my mother’s story. Unfortunately, I knew little about her service.
I did know that she enlisted because her family was poor. She chose the WACs because her older brother was in the Army. Because of the few black-and-white photos she shared, she was stationed in Florida where she learned to work on trucks.
I figured that when my presentation time was done, I could return to my desk. Not so. My teacher was so excited about the old uniform that she sent me up and down the hall, into every single classroom, upstairs and down.
I was so terrified that I squeaked out only a few words and wouldn’t have even got them out if it weren’t for the prompting of every teacher, in every classroom.
As the day progressed, the uniform got tighter, And the heavy wool brought out as much sweat as a humid summer day. Perspiration pooled under my arms and down my face. It soaked the collar and the waistband of the skirt.
When lunch came, I was allowed to change clothes.
It was such a horrible experience that I did not go out trick-or-treating that night and for several years after.
Words and Thoughts 