The Stars

If I could catch a single star

I’d hide it in your hair.

Whenever things drag you down

I’d hand you a mirror

And watch the sparkle fill

Your eyes.

 

With both hands reaching

Toward the sky

I’d catch a star in each.

One to plant inside your heart

The other in your soul

Just to brighten your every day.

 

Given time I’d gather a handful

To decorate your life

With joy and mystery enough

To last your whole life through.

 

With a scoop and bucket

I’d sweep them all into a tidy bunch

So that the glorious light constantly

Blooms wherever you train your eyes.

 

But maybe not.

 

If I could catch a single star

That would be enough

To remind you of my steadfast love

Forever burning bright.

 

Missing Him

I wonder where my dad is now?

What country or what town?

Do the people even know he’s there?

And care about his men?

 

I wonder what he’s thinking of

While I stare at the clouds?

Does he see the same sky I see

And smile at the same bright sun?

 

I wonder is he questions

What the war is all about?

Does it make a difference what he does?

And how will it all come out?

 

I wonder when he does come home

Whom will he smile at first?

Do you think he’ll even recognize me

And know that I’m his son?

 

I wonder if he wonders

What I’m thinking of today?

Does he pray for me on bended me

And whisper I love you?

 

Perhaps when he does come home

He’ll have changed in scary ways.

Or maybe he’ll cry tears of joy

Day after wondrous day.

 

Maybe he’ll never share his tales

Of things seen, done and said

For fear of changing how we feel

About our dear old dad.

 

I wonder where my dad is now

And what’s going through his mind.

I hope he pictures me and mom

And yearns to come back home.

 

For now I’ll pray every day

That he’ll survive the war

Return to me as the man I knew

So we’ll be whole once more.

A Bear of a Man

My mother had many siblings.

Her brother Joe scared me because he liked to pick me up, turn me upside down and paddle my bottom, long after such things would be done to someone my age. Tears never deterred him and my parents never intervened. One time he threatened to stuff me in my grandparent’s coal-burning stove. I kicked and screamed and cried for help, but not even my grandmother stopped him. When I felt the heat on my face and thought my hair was on fire, Joe finally set me down. I scurried away as fast as I could. Thankfully he lived many hours away and so visits were limited to twice a year.

Clarence was a backwoods man. He lived off-the-grid before it was popular to do so. He was moody, somber and seemed to have had children with several of the women who shared the house. It was hard to tell who belonged to whom because they all looked the same. Because his home was so far off any civilized road, we only visited him once.

There were several sisters. Rachel lived on a huge chunk of land, her house sitting high on a hill overlooking meadows of green grass. Not only was it a peaceful environment, she was a calming presence in my hectic life. I loved visiting her. Her youngest son was older than me but still liked to play little-kids games. Only later did I learn that Jimmy was learning disabled. One time my brother and I got to spend a weekend with Aunt Rachel. It was one of the best weekends in my life. I missed her when we moved to Ohio.

The uncle I knew the best was Rudy. He had moved to California before we did and was established in Orange County. He had bought a house, had a good-paying job, and his three sons and wife seemed happy. When we first arrived in California we stayed with them for several days. The sons were rough-and-tumble, but overall good kids. The wife was merry, easy to be around, and a good cook. Rudy was a quiet, respectful guy, quick to hug and laugh. He told great stories and enjoyed athletic pursuits. He was also an alcoholic.

When Rudy drank his personality changed. He growled with anger at perceived insults, was argumentative and disagreeable. He grabbed me whenever I passed nearby and held my arms so tight that he left bruises. He pulled me to his chest and kissed my head, over and over, stroking my hair. It gave me the creeps.

He threatened my brother, called him names and made fun of him for being an intellectual. Rudy respected only his type of intelligence: mechanical skills. He could fix any engine, appliance, television or radio. When he was sober. Drunk he was useless, which is probably why he moved so often.

My family rented a miniature house a few miles away from Rudy. My dad was struggling to find full-time work. Rudy came over one evening and after quite a few drinks convinced my dad to be his courier. My dad was to go to a mail pick up spot, open the box, remove whatever was inside and deliver it to a different address each time. He was not to open the envelope or ask the name of the person receiving the package. For this Dad would be given several hundred dollars, an amount that would feed us and keep us sheltered.

I think my dad knew there was something shady about this business. After Rudy left my parents huddled together in their bedroom for a long time, the murmur of voices the only sounds we could hear. The need for money won so my dad made a few runs.

Each time he was handed a bundle of cash. The money was a wonderful gift at a time when we were desperate. But then something happened that frightened my dad and he was not easily frightened. A man was standing outside the box pickup spot, followed my dad to his car, knocked on his window and demanded the package. Dad sped away, but later noticed a car following him. A case ensued through the streets of southern California. Eventually my dad shook the tail and delivered the envelope.

When he got home he called Rudy and told him he would never do that again.

Within minutes Rudy stormed into our house. He threw his barrel chest out, bumped it into my dad and pushed Dad up against a wall. I believe that punches were thrown, but by now I was hunkering behind the couch. I heard thumps and bumps and tons of curse words.

My uncle’s bass voice reverberated against the walls. He threatened to turn my dad into the police for laundering money. He promised jail time and a long conviction. His verbal abuse continued for a long, long time.

When my dad did not give in, Rudy demanded a beer, which my mom delivered. He parked himself in our rocking chair and sat there, downing beer after beer until his words were slurred. Throughout it all, he ranged from being abusive, threatening, intimidating, and finally as the alcohol set in, he fell into uncontrollable sobs.

Shortly after that incident we moved to South San Francesco. My dad found work and things were going well. We were in school and finding our way about in the new environment.

Rudy reemerged, this time as the warm, loving bear of a man that I knew and loved. He was once again jovial, telling jokes and stories that brought guffaws. But I knew, I remembered the evil version, the threatening grizzly bear who intimidated my rock-solid dad, a man who was threatening when displeased.

If Rudy could intimidate Dad, then what could he do to me?

Even when Rudy moved back to Ohio I never forgot his temper, his strength, his posturing. The teddy bear when sober was a man-killer when drunk. I was glad that I never saw him again.

 

 

Morning Prayer

Sunshine washes over my face

as I stand greeting morning’s rays

warming my mother, the earth

brightening skies and lifting hearts

soaring above the lofty clouds

with emblazoned lacy wings that

move with graceful exuberance,

carrying me closer and closer

to the blessed One who made it all.

 

Praise to the Lord, Halleluiah

for His gifts enrich all people

filling us with the everlasting

warmth of His dreams and hopes.

 

Sunshine washes over my face

giving me the supernatural strength

to follow the path chosen for me alone,

the golden steps of righteous living

that demand that I support my fellows

in their struggles and rejoice in triumphs

large and small, wallowing in the sunshine

of goodness streaking all over the earth.

 

Praise to the Lord, Halleluiah

For His kindness toward us all

Allowing us to err and arise from the ashes

As a phoenix soaring to the sun.

An Irish Blessing

May your dog lay peacefully

at your feet and lick your hand

to show his eternal gratitude.

 

May your cat snuggle in your lap,

keep mice and vermin away,

and not shred your furniture

to show her love.

 

May your children grow strong,

healthy, wealthy, and wise

in the ways of the world

and not fall into disarray.

 

May your friends stay ever faithful,

call to keep you from being lonely,

and keep your secrets secret.

 

May your path be smooth, easy, and flat,

with no breakages to slow you down.

 

May the sun brighten your every day

and rain clouds bring only gentle showers

to wash temptation away.

 

May your troubles be few.

May a smile always warm your heart

when you come home from a trip.

 

May life treat you well

so that when your time comes

to walk into the light,

you will do so with a grin in your heart.

The Times are Changing

Every year the flu sweeps across the country and sickens thousands. Kills many more. Yet we seldom panic when the word “flu” is used. Why? Because it is commonplace. It’s expected. It’s understood.

We know that it brings runny noses, coughs, chills, fevers. We expect to suffer for a week or more. It will leave us weak, but we recover. We don’t want to eat, but that’s for a relatively short period of time.

Our neighbors and coworkers and relatives get it, suffer, then most of them get well. Only rarely does someone we know die from the flu, and those that do tend to have compromised immune systems.

So what’s new about this coronavirus? For one thing, it’s taken researches a while to try to isolate what caused it. We don’t like mystery. We like scientific explanations. We like logic.

Mystery illnesses remind us of science fiction movies where plagues sweep across the world killing millions. That makes us uncomfortable because there’s a touch of reality in there, a touch of possibility that causes us to squirm.

Americans are accustomed to catching the flu then returning to normal life. While we are home suffering, everyone else is working, traveling, shopping. We wrap up in heavy blankets and sip broth while the rest of the family gobbles down pizza, hamburgers, spaghetti.

While we’re home unable to work, work goes on, leaving us behind. We worry that the boss will discover that we are not needed. That hurts our egos as we like to believe that we are indispensable.

Across the United States, as the virus sickens more and more of us, governors and mayors are enacting rules that restrict our movement. We don’t like that. We believe in our freedoms and those are being eroded on a daily basis.

We are in love with our cars. Yes, we can still drive about, but where can we go? Not to the movies or the theater as they are closed. We can’t dine in a nice restaurant where we chitchat with friends, for they are closed as well. We can drive up to a fast food window and order take out, but we aren’t permitted to share the meal with outsiders.

Our churches are closed, so we cannot worship in the usual way. Some churches have created streamed services, but that’s not the same environment. The pomp is gone. The music is gone. The partaking of communion is also gone. Our community is broken into tiny parts.

We cannot stroll through a mall or go for a hike with friends. Even our doctors don’t want to see us, opting for phone calls instead of in-person visits.

All the things that we are used to doing, that we accept as our rights, are shuttered.

The scary part is that we don’t know for how long. Two weeks? Three? Maybe even four? No one knows for sure. This uncertainty is new.

The flu might close a school for a deep cleaning that lasts a day, but all schools are closed for at least three weeks. Education, a right that we highly value, has ground to a halt.

No public transportation is operating, so we cannot go into the city or ride across the bay. We are truly stuck.

This curtailing of our freedoms is frightening. People are hoarding food and medicine. They are even filling bottle after bottle with water, thinking that our supply is going to be cut off? Who knows.

We are told to use sanitizer but you can’t find it anywhere. We are told to stay out of stores, but what if you need food? Because of the hoarders it’s hard to find fresh food, and when you do, the prices have risen to unacceptable rates.

We are told to keep six feet of separation between us, but at the grocery store, people stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

I hope and pray that this passes quickly and that not too many sicken and die.

Let’s muscle through this together. Let’s comply, as much as possible, for the betterment of all. Perhaps if we stay home, the end will come soon.

Meanwhile, we can sing the old song about how the times are changing.

Night Disturbances

Last night, a virtual parade

Promenaded through my tired brain

Stealing sleep like a pirate raid

Leaving me decidedly wane

 

Sense dulled by the midnight noise

Eyes red-rimmed like a circus fool

Death’s door beckons like children’s toys

Worried about next day at school

 

Fury propelled me from my bed

Like water gushing from a pipe

A flow of words inside my head

Weapons armed for a deadly swipe

 

Dragons swooped through darkened air

Flights of fancy in staccato beat

Threatening me with deep despair

Weakened, I accept true defeat

 

Carry me to thy private lair

Gently lay me on table bare

Rub silken ashes in my hair

Caress away every care

 

Worry me not with ebbing tide

Speak of romance deep and wide

Touch my soul burning red inside

Tonight I’ll be your special bride

 

 

A Tentative Hold

Despair disrobes my aching soul

Twisting me into nothingness

Stealing my solitary goal

Filling me with dire hopelessness

 

I cling to pleasant memories

Striving to erase my own pain

Fighting against complexities

That confuse my poor little brain

 

Hopelessness outweighs all pleasure

Crashing me into thick steel walls

Shielding me from golden treasure

Blinding my eyes to pleading calls

 

My life is pettily pointless

Of what use is continued fight?

To die, I must nevertheless

Today, no; and please not tonight

 

With a glimpse over my shoulder

I do catch Your glorious face

Floating, like a granite boulder

Uncomfortably out of place

 

Is there some hope? Will I survive?

With Your strong arms carrying me

I do believe that I may thrive

To express creativity

 

Hopelessness is driven away

Which cleanses my still burning soul

Nothingness chooses not to stay

I rejoice and set a new goal.

 

Railroad Calling

The rails are calling me

Clickety-clack

I’m yearning to be free

Never look back

 

Black engine rolls along

Puffing my name

Grunting and groaning strong

As in fame

 

Cities, fields, and hills fly by

Magical blur

Free as a bird, I cry

Contented purr

 

Look outside!  See new things

Happiness abounds

Wonderful offerings

Mystical sounds

 

Engine picks up the pace

Fly, fly away

Wind blows against my face

Feeling quite gay

 

My heart echoes the sound

Of wheels on track

Knows I’ll not be around

Take a new tack.

 

I’m yearning to be free

Clickety-clack

The rails are calling me

Never look back.

Empty Nest Syndrome at Last

We heard about the syndrome from the time our first son was born. According to the reports, we would cry each time one of our kids began Kindergarten. It didn’t happen because we rejoiced at the opportunities opened to learn and socialize.

Leaving elementary didn’t upset us either. Or graduating from high school. As each of them went away to college leaving behind empty beds, we did feel a bit of loneliness. At the same time, however, they were learning to make important life decisions as they grew into the adults they are now.

What helped was that a variety of four-legged animals lived with us, beginning in 1975 shortly after we bought our house. Lucky Lady, a Dalmatian, was our first of many. She was so smart that she blew us away with all she understood and could do. When Tim was born in 1976 she became his protector, staying by his side no matter where he was. After learning to jump the fence, she hips went bad. She was in tremendous pain, so the decision was hard, but not impossible.

When Lady was still alive we brought home Scamp, an Australian shepherd puppy mix who was so timid that she hid under furniture. Lady died making Scamp the only dog until a large dog appeared in our garage as I was folding laundry. My friend Penny told me she was part wolf. We believed her because she had an independent streak and often took off down the street. We called her Babe for Paul Bunyan’s big blue ox. Unfortunately Babe and Scamp had a bit of a mix-up, Scamp’s paw got injured and never healed. Scamp had bone cancer. Babe was now the only dog.

Babe developed mange, a nasty, sticking patch on her backside. No medications helped. It grew and grew and made her miserable. Then her hips went out. I had to pick up this huge dog and get her in the house. When Mike came home from work we knew what decision had to be made.

For a bit of time we had not dog, but helping my friend Penny search for a new dog, we found a cute puppy at the pound. He was part Border collie. We put in our names as potential adoptees and won. MacTavish was very sick, dying actually. Penny taught us how to force feed him. Because of her he grew into an incredibly awesome dog.

His quirky personality kept us jumping. He outsmarted us every day. When Mike retired Mac was his constant companion.

When Mac was recovering he became quite lonely. He needed something to keep him busy so I also adopted a Spaniel from a different pound. Majesty was not the easiest dog to live with. She was stubborn and didn’t take to training. Fortunately Mac let her boss him around.

Both lived to be in their teens. Majesty lost her sight and hearing and her ability to control her bowels. Mac’s hips went out. It was sad losing them both.

When Tim was about three he found a stray cat at church that he wanted to take home. We told him that if she was there the next day, he could have her. Tim made us go to church early. The cat was there, clearly hungry. Tim held her during mass while I sat on the steps with him. He called her Cupcake Eater Connelly. Cuppie was kind and gentle. She tolerated kids.

After Cuppie was getting up in years, a new neighbor moved in next door and got a chow. Cuppie was used to going over the fence. Had never been threatened. The neighbor let the chow out just as Cuppie went over the fence. He didn’t know it was our cat so failed to tell us. A week later when Cuppie still had not appeared, I asked the neighbor. He was embarrassed and offered to buy us a new cat.

Cuppie was not our only cat at the time because when Christine was in fourth grade, she chose a tortoiseshell calico cat, named Cali. Cali rode across Christine’s shoulders. She wasn’t the smartest cat we’ve owned, but she was sweet. She was still alive after Christine graduated from college, got married and had Emily. One time when they were visiting I looked out back and saw little Emily carrying Cali by the tail. Cali did not scratch or fight. Amazing.

Josie appeared shortly after Cali died. Mike was changing into hiking boots to go camping when a tiny kitten walked out of his closet. How did she get there?  We never knew, but we accepted her into our home. Josie was sweet and loving.

When Josie was getting old, I was at a pet food store on adoption day. There were tuxedo sisters up for adoption. Two for the price of one. They were named Violet and Lavendar, but we called them Missy and something else. The problem was that Mike left the door open on their second day in our house. Missy stayed but the other ran away. We never got her back.

Missy filled Josie’s paw prints when Josie died. Missy was the kind of cat you could pick up and carry around. She’d sit on your lap forever. She loved being brushed. Great purr. But she fell ill a few years late just before we were heading to Tim and Kate’s house back east. We left her at the vet’s. He called us. Kidney failure.

That meant no cats left. But…the vet knew someone who rescued cats and she just happened to have siblings ready for adoption. When we got home that woman brought over the cats. Both were short-hair, heads and bodies shaped somewhat like a Siamese. Both ran and hid under our bed.

We couldn’t get the female out, so the woman returned and took her back home. The boy named Taffy stayed because he was curious and wanted to explore. We changed his name to Tuffy.

A few years after Tuffy moved in I heard that someone had a Maine Coon cat up for adoption. I went to see her at a per store. She was incredibly placid. Long fir that would need brushing. Long, pointed ears. And huge!  I picked her up and almost dropped her.

In a cage near her was a thin pure black cat. I’d never wanted a black cat, but this little guy was spunky. He pushed a toy through the bars. I picked it up and stuffed it inside. He immediately pushed it through then looked at me with huge eyes. I fell in love. His name was Coal. He was a lap-sitter. He loved petting and curling up. He was smart and gentle.

Tuffy, at this point, was still somewhat aloof. He allowed Coal to sit in laps and absorb all loving. Tuffy preferred being outside. He was born feral, and we both assumed that even though he’d been rescued young, that wildness was still there.

Coal fell ill. He cried when touched. The vet discovered that his chest was filled with fluid. For some bizarre reason we paid for expensive treatments which failed. The day we brought Coal home he died before we walked through the door.

Tuffy was now the only cat, the only four-legged critter. He slowly took over the job of sitting in laps, rubbing legs, begging for food. His personality changed. He was no longer aloof, but a big lover.

We knew he would be the last. We love to travel, our kids don’t live nearby, and we’re getting older. It wouldn’t be fair to bring an animal into our home knowing that our kids would someday have to decide what to do with it. Therefor no more dogs or cats.

For the first time since 1975 we have no critters roaming about. No fur on the floor or sticking to the furniture. No fur on my black pants or clumping on my sleeves. No clicking of toenails on the wood floors. No one greeting me when I come home. No one staring forlornly through the sliding glass door out back. No meows or barks. No treats. No food to put in bowls and no water to be refreshed.

It’s weird and a bit lonely.

Our house, however, is till filled with noise.

Somewhere along the way after our kids had all gone off to college I decided to return to being a bird keeper. Before I met Mike I had had two cages of parakeets that I spoiled rotten, but by the time we got married they had all died.

One day, for some strange reason, I read the want ads and saw lovebirds and cockatiels for sale. Before I called, I visited a pet store and looked at both types. The lovebirds were small and had a very loud screech. The cockatiels were bigger, but quiet. I checked out books from the library and read about the care of both.

Convinced that cockatiels would be the best, I called and made an appointment to see them one day after school. Yes, there were differences in size and in appearance. The cockatiels were huge, had feathers that stuck up over their heads giving them a regal look, and were fairly calm. They didn’t startle when the young man put his hand in the cage.

The lovebirds were beautiful. They had orange patches on their cheeks and deep green plumage. They were far from regal because they screeched and fought back. They exhibited a personality that intrigued me. I brought them home.

After that first pair I saw an ad for another, only $40 for both birds and cage. They were young and turned out to be a mating couple. Before long we had a clutch of eggs. Fortunately they didn’t hatch, but the next two clutches did. We kept two of the baby birds and found homes for the rest.

Another ad inspired me to buy two cockatiels. They were not tame and never would be. They were quiet, which was fine as the lovebird screeches filled our house with sound. They were so big that I had to buy a special cage. A huge cage!

This was my third cage, but I didn’t mind because I loved them. It took a lot of work to keep the cages clean. As the birds died off, I went down to two cages, then more recently one.

I decided that the lovebirds were lonely and I’d always wanted black-faced lovebirds, so I bought two. One died in the first week. Eventually one of the cockatiels died, so then I moved an older lovebird in with the remaining cockatiel and the one black faced lovebird, Rolo.

Rolo was a character. He understood my commands. He didn’t speak, but when I told him to go home, he returned to the cage. I never tamed him but he knew when I was around.

He died a few weeks ago.

All we have left now is a sixteen year old lovebird. She could die any day, but right now she’s quite happy being alone. She sings all day long. She’s mean, though, When I stick my hand in to change food or water she attacks.

Once she dies, there will be no more birds. No cages to clean, no seed to buy, no toys to rotate.

At that point our house will be empty of animals with no intent of bringing new in to take their places.

Perhaps then we will experience empty nest syndrome in all its manifestations. Or maybe we’ll be content with the memories of all the dogs, cats, birds, and oh yes, lest I forget, the tropical fish that moved into the house with us 46 years ago.

I realize that it will be just another stage in my life, and for that reason, I am not saddened as I look into the future.

Our nest will not truly be empty as we will have each other and all the spirits of the many critters that we were blessed to have. We have wonderful adult kids and their significant others. We have talented grandchildren that we don’t get to see enough of, but we know they are a long drive away.

We have been blessed in many ways. Our home has been filled with love both given and received. God has found ways to be with us. He will continue to do so.