Commitment

Commitment

the story of a marriage

is one of

trials

and

tribulations

forgiveness

and

letting go

of errors made

love

and

anger

compromise

and

patience

walking together

through life

sharing times

good

and

bad

most of all

reveling

in each other’s

company

until death

do us part

Posted in Poems, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Working Together

Sun looked down at her friend the Earth and smiled. All was good. Trees grew straight and tall. Flowers bloomed. Waters ran, following her magnetic pull, east and west, north and south. Earth was warm where her rays fell, cool where they did not. Both friends were satisfied.

For billions of years Sun provided the things that Earth needed, but what did Earth give Sun? Nothing, Sun thought and so she decided to ask Earth for a favor. “Please, my friend, I am lonely. There is none other like me. I am light and fire while you are air and water and warmth. Tell me where I can find my own kind?”

Earth was puzzled. She knew about nutrients needed to grow things, she knew about the benefits of clean water, but nothing about friends for Sun. “I would love to help you,” Earth said, “but I don’t know where to look. Do you have any ideas?”

Despairing over the lack of help, Sun cried. Flames dripped from her eyes, sparks shooting off into the blackness.

“Hey,” Earth said. “Do that again.”

Sun let loose a whole stream of tears which spewed off in countless directions.

“Look now,” Earth said.

Where there once had been complete darkness, now pinpricks of light dotted the surrounding darkness. Most glittered, but some flew through the dark, trailing brilliant streaks of light.

“Those lights, those flames, they are your children,” Earth said. “In time they will grow and multiply. They will become your friends and companions.”

Sun felt better, but there was still an ache in her heart. “That’s great,” she said, “but what do I do for now? My loneliness has not eased.”

“Love me,” Earth said, “and bless me with a gift of life that we both can enjoy.”

Sun considered the many things she could do. In time, an idea came upon her to create living, moving beings that would subsist on the wonders that Earth could offer. She sent tiny sparks to Earth’s surface. Not enough to cause fire, but the right amount to burst into something new: four-legged and two-legged and winged beings.

Earth was thrilled. “Thank you, my friend,” she said. “I feel the tickle of feet and the whoosh of air as the beings cross my lands. I giggle when they eat of my fruit and drink my water. You have given me a marvelous gift.”

Sun was happy for her friend. She loved the sparks of light in the sky, but she was still lonely. “Earth, my friend, I need your help.”

“I wish I could share my gifts with you,” Earth said. “because I have more than enough. I feel your sadness. What can I do to cheer you up?”

Sun had weighed many possibilities and eliminated all but one. “Since I am light and can create light, maybe since you are the world, you can create other worlds?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Imagine,” Sun said, “a world like you that travels across the sky. It is sometimes in my light, but sometimes in the dark as well. When it’s in light, it would be my companion. When it’s in dark, it could be yours.”

“Let me think about it.”

Time passed. Day after day Sun lit up first one side of Earth, then the other. She was careful not to let things get too hot or too cold. She watched the beings traverse Earth’s lands and waters and air. She marveled as the plants grew fruitful and then rested only to resurge again. She witnessed rain and snow and shimmering days.

But Sun was growing impatient, so she asked Earth, “Have you any ideas?”

“Yes, I do,” Earth said. “I am willing to give something a good try. I will concentrate as hard as I can, imagining a world that floats like I do, but is sometimes in your light and sometimes in the dark. It might not work, but at least we can say that I tried.”

While Sun waited she also thought of a floating world. In her imagination, it was like a human man, with a face that smiled both at her and at Earth. Time passed with no change, but then as Sun spread her light over one side of Earth one day, something changed. There was a pull, like a string.

Sun woke up her friend, saying, “Something is happening.”

“I feel it, too.”

Out of the darkness came a sphere. Slowly, slowly it moved closer and closer to Earth. It came to a stop between Sun and Earth. Earth was pleased. “It worked! I created a world!”

Sun was also pleased. She shone her light on it and saw a face. An old man’s face, just like in her dreams. “What shall we call him?”

“Moon,” Earth said.

“That’s a perfect name.”

“Moon,” Earth called. “Wake up.”

Moon opened his eyes and was pleased with what he saw. Above him shone Sun and below him lay fertile Earth. “I am happy,” he said.

“Will you be our friend?” Sun and Earth asked together.

“Yes, I will,” he said, “as long as you will be mine.”

All was good. Sun had a friend part of the time and Earth had a friend the rest. When Moon was in Sun’s light, he glowed as if lit from inside. When Moon was on the side of Earth, he faded into the sky, but his pull was always there, moving Earth’s waters back and forth, back and forth, caressing Earth and making her very, very happy.

 

 

Posted in Shiort story, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Dreams

I wish that I could say that my mother had loved me.  If she had, I’d tell you about the times she held me in her lap and hugged, so tight, all while crooning soothing words.  I would share the story about when she ran behind my two-wheel bike, holding on to the seat, while I peddled, trying to stay upright.  There’d be stories about long walks in the woods behind our house and working together in the garden.

In the winter, after a good snowstorm, she would have thrown snowballs, built an igloo, and gone sledding down Mrs. Brademeyer’s hill.  In the summer, she would have  taken the hose and squirted water all over me, until my hair drooped like seaweed.  And then she’d give me a towel and a root beer Popsicle.

Maybe when I brought home my report cards she’d checked them over carefully, and then congratulated me on good effort.  And when I was promoted to the next grade, she would have given me a little gift to show how proud she was.

Or there would have been fun-filled shopping trips in which we squeezed into the same dressing room and tried on clothes, laughing hysterically.  Afterwards we would go out to lunch at a restaurant and eat way too much food.  If there was time, we’d go to the movie theater, buy popcorn, and cry all through the love story happening on the screen.

When I played on my high school basketball team, my mother would have attended every game.  When I played well, she would have clapped, demurely, of course.  And when I didn’t get to play in a huge tournament, my mother would have walked right up to the coach and chewed her out.  I can picture her doing that.

She would have followed my bowling team when I played for the junior college, and gone to my badminton matches as well.  She would have carried my gym bag and handed me a towel when sweat dripped into my eyes.  I bet she watched with her fingers crossed, hoping for a strike whenever I released the ball sending it skidding down the alley.

And when I was severely trounced in my first college badminton tournament, my mother would have pulled a crumpled tissue out of her purse and then would have had the good grace to look away in my moment of humiliation.  When I was done feeling sorry for myself, my mother would have offered words of encouragement and then sent me back into the gym to face my next opponent.

Maybe I’d tell about her coming to my high school graduation, and how she got there early enough to sit right up front.  Close enough that I saw her smile with pride as I crossed the stage.  When the principal announced that I had won a state scholarship, she would have stood and applauded louder and longer than anyone.  When we got back home, there would have been a beautifully wrapped present waiting on the dining room table.  Something she thought I’d need for college.

For my college graduation?  She would have flown down to Los Angeles a week early and helped me pick out a new dress to wear.  We would have seen a movie to take off my nervous edge.  And on the day of the ceremony, she would have taken me to a beauty shop for a special treatment.  When I entered wearing my cap and gown, tears would have poured down her face, soaking her cotton dress.

When I moved back home, I’m sure that she would have invited over all the relatives to share in my accomplishments.  What a party that would have been!  Laughter, games, gifts, congratulations.

There would be stories about trying to teach me how to cook.  We could laugh about my “raw” pancakes and the meatloaf that fell into crumbs when sliced.  I’m sure she would have laughed when my first cake didn’t rise as well as over the biscuits that were charred on the bottom.  On the other hand, her face would have lit up when I mastered the infamous green bean casserole and when that green Jell-O mold jiggled, like it was supposed to, when dumped on the serving tray.

I can imagine her smiling when I brought my husband-to-be home for introductions.  She would have immediately fallen in love with him and been happy for me.  She would have shared in my joy, knowing that, at last, I was stepping into adulthood.  That should have made her proud.

It would be nice to speak of the times we shared recipes or of the Tupperware parties that we went to and bought way too many of those wonderful plastic containers.  There would have been birthday parties and anniversaries to celebrate with good food, friends, and lots of laughter.

Yes, I can visualize all of these things.  It’s too bad that absolutely none of them ever happened.

Posted in Personal Essay, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Little Red Revisited

Little Red didst blithely skip

in forest deep and dark.

Forgetting all had been warned

laughing as if on a lark.

 

She swung her basket to and fro

not looking through her eyes,

for dangers hidden in the trees

not thinking about a disguise.

 

Upon a hunter meek and mild

Little Red didst soon arrive.

With clear blue eyes she smiled

At him, so sweet, so clear, so alive.

 

He spoke of peace and gentle things

and she didst fall in love.

He promised not to hurt her heart

and swore to God above.

 

Red knew him not, but answered yes

despite what she’d been told.

And so struck out on her own

with step both confident and bold.

 

Ignoring signs of pending doom,

Red whistled as she skipped.

Right up to Grandma’s house

and in the door she slipped.

 

In bed poor Grandma slept

with fever and with cold.

Red tiptoed up to see her eyes

and Grandma’s hand to hold.

 

“What big eyes,” Red declared

when Grandma didst awake.

“To see, my dear,” she replied

and took a bite of cake.

 

“What big teeth,” Red did say

when Grandma opened wide.

“To chew, my dear, these lovely

cakes,” she sneakily replied.

 

“What furry arms you have,”

said Red, “but I remember not

when didst thou grow such

lengthy hair could be tied in a knot.”

 

“It keeps me warm on winter’s eve,

and dry during a spring rain.

I’d love to hold you in my arms,

to cradle you once again.”

 

“No, thanks,” said Red for she did see

that things were not all right.

For Grandma dear was way too dark

even in such poor light.

 

“I think I’ll go,” Red didst say

and hurried toward the door.

“You shall not go,” Grandma declared

and sprang feet on the floor.

 

She threw off her cap and gown,

revealing a wolf-like shape.

Red didst scream and run about

attempting to escape.

 

The wolf didst flash a mighty smile

and throw his arms out wide.

Intending to capture Little Red

without wasting even one stride.

 

Suddenly there didst appear

a man both tall and strong.

Red ran to him and told her tale

so he could right a wrong.

 

Listen now for you shall hear

the moral of this tale.

Go careful through yon forest deep

and whilst skipping through a vale.

 

Rescue might not come your way.

To perish could become your plight.

Unless you’re careful to observe

even on the darkest dark night.

 

While Little Red didst escape

and her story she soon didst tell.

You must listen and take care,

so for you things will go well.

 

You cannot walk and prance about,

with head adrift in the skies.

For on you might come, like to Red,

a murderous surprise.

 

Beware, my child, of strangers met

in forest, field, or glen.

For they might be a dangerous sort,

then we’ll not meet again.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Poems, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Transformation

Dryer calls and dishwasher rumbles

Television shouts incessant noise

Old truck outside my window rumbles

Little girls harass those bratty boys

 

Underneath all, streams a golden tune

Music to relax my restless heart

Causes me to shiver, shake, and swoon

God’s simply blessing me with His art

 

I kneel before His glorious face

Feel His hands upon my troubled head

Wonderment cascades into my space

Gently eases a heart that once bled

 

Sounds that created tremendous pain

Now altered through God’s heavenly grace

Transform into a most welcome rain

While rainbows brighten glowering face

 

Nights and days with happiness are filled

Friendships bloom into colorful hues

God’s love now into my life is spilled

So no longer will I sing the blues

Posted in Poems, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Women Who Serve Their Country

A lot of emphasis has been placed on the #MeToo movement which brings awareness to the sexual harassment that women face in the workplace and beyond. It is a powerful movement becomes it brings to the forefront voices and concerns that previously went unheard.

Before this, women’s voices were heard through the suffragettes and then much later, by members of the women’s liberation movement which most people think began with the outspoken voices of individuals like Gloria Steinman.

During WWII women heard the call and responded. With so many working-age men serving in the military, necessary jobs were understaffed. In 1943 a Norman Rockwell painted a poster that was to entice to women to leave homes and do something to help the United States win the war. While Rockwell’s painting might have been the first, it was J. Howard Miller’s depiction of Rosie Riveter, wearing a red bandana and flexing her biceps accompanied by the words We Can do It! that inspired women to take on traditionally male jobs such as welding, riveting and construction.

The movement was not embraced wholeheartedly. A wave of women entered these fields in unprecedented numbers. According to history.com, more than 310,000 women worked in the aircraft industry and a comparable amount worked in the munitions industry. Many men refused to work side-by-side women until ordered to do so.

A sterling example of the impact of these Rosies is in Richmond, California, at the site of Kaiser Shipyards to honor the Rosies who helped to produce 747 ships, more than any other shipyard in the United States. The shipyards worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Over 90,000 employees struggled to assemble the ships, which were created in sections that were then lowered into place.

Women came from all over the United States to learn welding, riveting and various construction skills in order to build ships that were needed for the war effort. The call for help was so successful that the city of Richmond grew from a population of 24,000 to over 100,000 in just a few years.

Kaiser was a brilliant entrepreneur. He employed his own drafts people, many of them women, to replicate the mandatory designs for Liberty and Victory ships that moved soldiers and materials all over the world. In fact, large equipment such as jeeps were disassembled into segments and then crated. Once at the site, the equipment was rebuilt. In this way the holds could be crammed with materials.

He understood that these women were doing the same jobs as men, with the same level of training and under the same working conditions. Because of this, Kaiser paid the women the same wage. He also realized that many of the women had school-age children that needed a safe place to stay while their mothers worked. To alleviate the problem, Kaiser offered Child Care Centers at their industrial sites that were run by highly skilled teachers. The kids received an excellent education in safe environments. This was a novel idea at the time, and still would be considered such today.

Another benefit was health care.  Kaiser understood that more Americans were dying in Home Front accidents than on the battlefields. He knew that only healthy workers could meet his grueling demands and construction needs.

When workers got hurt on the job, because the nearest clinic couldn’t handle the explosion in population needing services, many hours of valuable time were lost. So Kaiser built a field hospital at the shipyard in 1942 that encouraged prepaid medical care at fifty cents a week. Two years later more than 92% of Kaiser employees were enrolled in the plan, which was the first of its kind in the nation. It featured group medical practitioners, prepayment and substantial facilities at a moderate rate.

Another problem was housing. Workers arrived to find no suitable place to live. Many slept in the all-night movie theaters and a huge number shared beds with at least one other worker. Because there were three shifts to work, someone could be in the bed during the morning shift, someone in the afternoon, and a third at night. Today we would find this unacceptable.

Rosies are slowly dying, and so there was a push to be recognized at the federal level. One Rosie began a letter-writing campaign. Every year, beginning with President Clinton, she wrote a letter asking for the government to do something to commemorate the service these women gave to the country.

After twelve years of writing, a letter finally arrived in Joe Biden’s mailbox. He arranged for Rosies to come to the White House for a special day. They were given a private tour, received hugs from Biden, and were astonished when President Obama spoke to them.

On a recent tour of the Richmond Park, we met four of the Rosies, who all shared their stories. They spoke of the call to serve, the desire to do something for their country. None of them had been employed before, so striking out on this journey was quite an adventure. Two of them became welders after overcoming the prejudice of the union that would not allow women to join. Without a union card, they could not work. Kaiser intervened and the rules changed.

The welders learned to set down seams vertically, horizontally and overhead. They said that overhead was the most challenging. To get to the place where the welding was needed, they crawled through eighteen inch square holes dragging their equipment along. It was dark and hot, but they persevered.

Another Rosie worked drafting blueprints. She enjoyed the work because she knew that if she missed an error in the design, the ship might not be sea-worthy.

Because there are so few Rosies left, we felt blessed to be with them and to hear their stories.

Image6If you get a chance to visit a memorial, stop by. It’s an amazing story.

 

 

Posted in Personal Essay, True story, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Making Do

When I was a kid, I was aware of the fact that money seemed to be a constant concern of my dad’s. He kept a budget that went out several weeks into the future that accounted for every payment, every bit of income, every spare dollar. He used the budget to make decisions that affected our welfare.

For example, we never went on big vacations. Too costly. However, we did visit relatives in Kentucky, Wisconsin, Indiana and Nebraska. Wherever we could find a floor to sleep on, there we went.

While I never felt truly poor, I did understand that there were things I didn’t have, couldn’t have, that other kids did.

Until seventh grade I attended a Catholic elementary school. We wore dark blue jumpers and white blouses. Before school began parents held a sale in which used uniforms could be purchased. Because I was overweight, my choices were limited to those outfits that some other, older fat kid had worn.

My blouses were never truly white and my jumpers were never dark blue. I stood out from the neatly dressed kids with their crisp new clothes.

I survived.

I remember when Barbie dolls hit the market. The girl across the street, my only friend, got a doll. I thought it was beautiful with its svelte body and long ponytail, neither of which I had. The dolls arms and legs moved and the head could turn from side to side.

I wanted on so badly that it hurt. But, according to my dad’s budget, there was no money.

I earned twenty-five cents a week allowance for doing assigned chores around the house. I argued that, if I did more work, all unassigned jobs outside my normal duties, I should be paid more. Guess what? No money in the budget.

I wanted a Barbie so badly that for weeks I saved every penny from my allowance. Thinking I had enough, I stuffed the quarters in my pocket when we went to the store. I beamed with pride and excitement. I was going to have a Barbie!

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered the true cost of a Barbie. My coins wouldn’t even make a dent in the cost. I would have to save for months just to get close to having one, and buy then it would be winter when we seldom went outside.

I was incredibly disappointed. In the aisle where they sold cheap plastic toys, I found a look-alike doll. Yes, the plastic was thin, almost opaque, but she resembled the real thing so closely that I thought the neighbor girl wouldn’t notice.

With resignation, I used my saved money to buy the imitation. At home I was given fabric scraps to fashion outfits for her. I spent hours in the shade of a tree in our backyard cutting and sewing. Eventually my doll had a variety of things to wear.

I took my treasures across the street.   The girl noticed immediately that my doll was not the real thing. She laughed, a cruel, heartless laugh of superiority. I went home with my face burning from shame.

I continued to play with the doll, but only at home. I made her more clothes, my stitiches getting better with each mew thing I crafted.

I learned an important lesson. While it’s nice to have the real thing, the actual Barbie and uniforms that no one had worn before me, it’s also possible to make do with what you can afford to have.

What I learned as a young girl I took with me into adulthood. When I could get to a markdown store, I bought groceries there for a fraction of the cost in a chain store. The items were just as good, albeit sometimes odd-shaped.

I shopped at thrift stores for clothes for me and for my family. Because of this we were always dressed nicely, even though sometimes the fashions were a bit out of style.

My dad taught me to only spend money that you had; an important lesson that continues to influence my decision-making today.

There is nothing wrong with making do. It’s something that people around the world do every day.

I can be one of those people who spend only what they can afford. But because my husband and I lived with our future in mind, we can also go on vacation to places that we’ve dreamt of seeing.

Making do was the foundation of my upbringing. It taught me to appreciate what I had even when there were things that I dearly wanted. I learned that fashions come and go, items lose popularity and are replaced with new things that everyone simply must have, but financial solvency is more important than going into debt. It has served me well.

 

 

Posted in Personal Essay, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment