You Were

"You Were," after
"Litany," by Billy Collins

You were the earth mother, the bread baker, the weaver.
You were the gardener, the farm wife, the maker of curtains.

You were not the perfect wife, the keeper of tranquility, the rock.
You tried, but you failed.

You tried to be Ruth, with your "whither thou goest I will go,"
but that got old after a while.

You tried to let him follow his elusive dream, but eventually it turned into,
"If you go for your Ph.D., you go alone."

You were the Little House wife and mother, but also the thesis typist and editor.
You were the seamstress, of mother/daughter dotted swiss dresses,
the dollmaker, and Pooh and Eyore too.

You were not the committed daughter,
and you have never forgiven yourself.

You were the starter of projects, but not always the finisher.
You were the music lover, and reader, and lover of beautiful things.

Eventually you were even the minister, but never the preacher.
And you only had so much strength in you, and so had to give it up,
in order to survive.

Now you are the writer of memories,
But with your heart too much on your sleeve.

You never were very good with boundaries,
And so you write, and then have to go back and unwrite.

You are a very good grandmom, one of the three.
And loved, much loved, by those to whom you have been given.

You will be the world's oldest hippie.
Happy and content to complete the circle.

Addendum

And the song I used to sing with my grandchildren is in my head,

"The wheels of the bus go round and round,"

And the more things change,
the more they stay the same.

My Life

"Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring


down the mountain.
. . . . .


Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its cities,


it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;
. . . . ."

"Spring"

by Mary Oliver

My life includes writing, and music, and cities; does it also include the bear--descending the mountain, breathing and tasting? Have I so lost touch with wildlife and country and nature? I used to live on the edge of the woods, and my friends would play in the woods. But not me--Daddy wanted to protect me. So I stayed protected.

I lived with music, and books, and town life. And that was an advantage, because I went to good schools, and was exposed to music and literature, because of my mother's background. And growing up in Oak Ridge provided "the good life," and loving family and friends. I had minimal exposure to "life in the country," though that was my father's background.


And when Nick and I moved to Seattle, we went to Puget Sound, and beautiful scenery, mountains, trees, and camped some (but not much). And when he spent summers on San Juan Island directing the archaeological field school, I took our daughter to visit (for a short time), but then went home--back to civilization, and work, and "real life."


I was always removed from any kind of wilderness, always protected. Always kept myself protected. I would have been very afraid of this big, black, wild bear. Mary Oliver's question--how to love this world--would never have occurred to me. I've always kept life--and people--and nature--at arm's length. Don't get too close; I might get hurt. The bear might turn on me, and bite me. Stay protected. Stay safe.


But then don't complain because real life has passed me by.

Letter to Bear

Prompt this morning at writing group was a teddy bear. The most wonderful, large, fuzzy, sweet bear--just the perfect size for holding and hugging. The word I drew was letter. So here is "Letter to Bear."


Dear Bear,

You're a wonderful bear--all fuzzy, plump, and cuddly. Just the right size. If you were my bear, I'd carry you around with me, and enjoy your softness. I understand why children love you so much, Bear, because you feel so good and comforting. I'd sit with you in my arms, while I watch TV or play on the computer. You'd give me comfort when I feel lonely, and I could talk to you and tell you why I was sad.

Toby is good company also, Bear. And I can talk to him and he seems to understand me. He sits beside me on the sofa in front of the TV, and I pet him and love on him. And he lies behind me in his bed in the office when I'm on the computer. But I can't sleep with him any more, Bear, like I could with you.

And Bear, you wouldn't wake me up too early in the morning. And I'd never have to take you out for potty breaks.

Love, Mom

St. Mary's Retreat, March 29, 2010

Writing from a prompt.
"To me the meanest flower that grows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
from "Ode: Intimations of Immortality and
Recollections of Early Childhood"


It started out as a memoir blurb, about the huge change in my life (entering the ministry), which began as a chance comment from a friend (going back to school in midlife). But as I wrote, I became more and more bogged down, and finally decided to write it more as a poem than a memoir. Maybe sometime I'll go back to the memoir, but for now, here's the shorter version.


Something Big from Something Small

Something small and inconsequential
Can grow to a changed life.

"I'm going back to school," she said.
I kept remembering.

Just divorced, life in turmoil,
How could I do that?

But the accounting firm didn't feel right any more.
The man with integrity had retired,
And now "bottom line" was all.

Divorce changed everything,
Counseling for the depression,
Back to church after 20 years.

In the new church,
Gifts & Talents workshop
One with Another singles group
New friends, new activities,
Brochure on a grad program--Can I do it?

Divinity school,
Application--yes
Financial help--yes
Ordination candidate--yes

"What does all this stuff mean?"
New ideas and terminology
"Exegesis"
"Feminist theology"
"Patriarchy"
"Hermeneutics of suspicion"
What a vocabulary!

"I don't think I can do this!"
"You'll be a wonderful minister," she said.
"Remember this later," she said,
"so they'll be able to understand you.
Church is very different from Divinity School."