GREAT video of Good Deeds by Americans. This lady is passionate about heralding the "Just Do it spirit" to improve communities.
CBS showed a segment about the folks who posted videos from 50 states in 52 weeks.
I found this all very inspiring. "We are a great people." "Change comes one committed person at a time."
Find your state here.javascript:void(0)
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
I'm going to sponsor a kid in Swaziland
Our church has a three year commitment with a care point working alongside a local Pastor who is enabling grandmothers to help feed orphans. Click the title of this post for a link to the group Dawson is working with.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
It's a God Thing: Stories below and Slide Show with a click
It was not until the choir trip to China that I understood the depth of meaning to the phrase “let me walk with my brother in perfect harmony.”
On Monday afternoon, March 16, The China 43 traveled several miles out of Tianjin to a government managed Adult Care Facility. We did not know what to expect, but we knew our mission was to spread the fragrance of Christ to this group because that was the mission for the whole trip. II Corinthians 2:14-15 In the Messiah, in Christ, God leads us from place to place in one perpetual victory parade. Through us, he brings knowledge of Christ. Everywhere we go, people breathe in the exquisite fragrance. Because of Christ, we give off a sweet scent rising to God, which is recognized by those on the way of salvation—an aroma redolent with life.
Inside we smiled at individuals whose ages ranged from 14 to 70, and whose conditions ranged from Down’s syndrome to cerebral palsy. Were they almost forgotten by Chinese citizens who want “perfect” individuals as part of their society? I sensed the perfection that China expects of its people.
When we arrived at the facility, we were led by a government official up four flights of stairs to a brightly decorated multi-purpose room where the residents anxiously awaited our arrival. For a greeting to our group, three residents and their instructor performed a dance, four residents sang, and one performed a trick. Then we sang for them. After the short concert, we moved to the courtyard of another building where we sang for a group of severely limited individuals.
As we joined hands with these residents to sing “Let There Be Peace,” I watched the face of the young man to my right. He had a broad smile and was mumbling a tune with us. I was reminded of Jesus’ words, “In as much as you have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren,ye have done it unto me.” Tears filled my eyes and joy flooded my heart as I knew we were spreading the fragrance of Christ and walking in perfect harmony with our brothers. One need not understand a particular language to walk in harmony or to know the depth of God’s love. --Emily Brasher
++++++++++++++++++++++
On a prayer ride through a city we prayed for its millions who have not heard Jesus's love story. Then the bus stopped at a small marketplace. Walking we turned into a lane to visit a Three Self Church, a government registered church. We were greeted by several Chinese women and their pastor. They sang part of the “Hallelujah Chorus” hoping we would recognize the tune. Then as they sang “Silent Night” in Chinese, we joined in English. There were tears and smiles as we all worshiped the Lord together. Then The China 43 sang several songs for them in a mini concert from their choir loft. We conferred and took up a love offering among ourselves. I bowed to graciously give it to the pastor; they were not to be out done.
We brought home two gifts from their congregation. Come to the choir room to see the neon sign they sent home with us. Also they gave us a framed picture of roses with a scripture reference. Both seemed to affirm why we went and what we did. We did not go to hide our faith. We went to “Let it Shine” as the song says. Also we went to turn heads with the Spirit's sweet fragrance of love.
The encounter at the church was a singularly moving experience for me. But as I shared with the Sanctuary Choir in rehearsal, the whole trip made me trust our Father more. I could not plan the itinerary as I usually do for mission trips. We went with unknowns but we sang in 18 venues, more than twice what we expected. In hotel lobbies, in restaurants, on top of the Great Wall we proclaimed “Praise GOD~from whom all blessings flow”.--Bob Hatfield
On Monday afternoon, March 16, The China 43 traveled several miles out of Tianjin to a government managed Adult Care Facility. We did not know what to expect, but we knew our mission was to spread the fragrance of Christ to this group because that was the mission for the whole trip. II Corinthians 2:14-15 In the Messiah, in Christ, God leads us from place to place in one perpetual victory parade. Through us, he brings knowledge of Christ. Everywhere we go, people breathe in the exquisite fragrance. Because of Christ, we give off a sweet scent rising to God, which is recognized by those on the way of salvation—an aroma redolent with life.
Inside we smiled at individuals whose ages ranged from 14 to 70, and whose conditions ranged from Down’s syndrome to cerebral palsy. Were they almost forgotten by Chinese citizens who want “perfect” individuals as part of their society? I sensed the perfection that China expects of its people.
When we arrived at the facility, we were led by a government official up four flights of stairs to a brightly decorated multi-purpose room where the residents anxiously awaited our arrival. For a greeting to our group, three residents and their instructor performed a dance, four residents sang, and one performed a trick. Then we sang for them. After the short concert, we moved to the courtyard of another building where we sang for a group of severely limited individuals.
As we joined hands with these residents to sing “Let There Be Peace,” I watched the face of the young man to my right. He had a broad smile and was mumbling a tune with us. I was reminded of Jesus’ words, “In as much as you have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren,ye have done it unto me.” Tears filled my eyes and joy flooded my heart as I knew we were spreading the fragrance of Christ and walking in perfect harmony with our brothers. One need not understand a particular language to walk in harmony or to know the depth of God’s love. --Emily Brasher
++++++++++++++++++++++
On a prayer ride through a city we prayed for its millions who have not heard Jesus's love story. Then the bus stopped at a small marketplace. Walking we turned into a lane to visit a Three Self Church, a government registered church. We were greeted by several Chinese women and their pastor. They sang part of the “Hallelujah Chorus” hoping we would recognize the tune. Then as they sang “Silent Night” in Chinese, we joined in English. There were tears and smiles as we all worshiped the Lord together. Then The China 43 sang several songs for them in a mini concert from their choir loft. We conferred and took up a love offering among ourselves. I bowed to graciously give it to the pastor; they were not to be out done.
We brought home two gifts from their congregation. Come to the choir room to see the neon sign they sent home with us. Also they gave us a framed picture of roses with a scripture reference. Both seemed to affirm why we went and what we did. We did not go to hide our faith. We went to “Let it Shine” as the song says. Also we went to turn heads with the Spirit's sweet fragrance of love.
The encounter at the church was a singularly moving experience for me. But as I shared with the Sanctuary Choir in rehearsal, the whole trip made me trust our Father more. I could not plan the itinerary as I usually do for mission trips. We went with unknowns but we sang in 18 venues, more than twice what we expected. In hotel lobbies, in restaurants, on top of the Great Wall we proclaimed “Praise GOD~from whom all blessings flow”.--Bob Hatfield
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Patience
Look at Guam's beauty through Mann's eyes.~
Adapt the pace of nature: her secret is patience. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Nature grows; discharges waste; reproduces; morphs; and composes jazz fests for God with bird solos and wind riffs.
Patience with self; patience with others; patience with government means we welcome death and rebirth. Is nature's pace swift or slow?
Adapt the pace of nature: her secret is patience. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Nature grows; discharges waste; reproduces; morphs; and composes jazz fests for God with bird solos and wind riffs.
Patience with self; patience with others; patience with government means we welcome death and rebirth. Is nature's pace swift or slow?
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Significance of Circles
A couple of centuries ago, when the East Africans met Europeans, a new word was added to their vocabulary for the light skinned hominids who dressed, talked, and worked differently. In Swahili, Europeans were referred to as Mzungo. I was told its derrivation is, “turns around in circles”. (That makes me smile as I think of myself turning around in the garage to get something I left in the house.) Of course, chickens with their heads cut off run around in circles too. And so do electrons, people and planets.
Up front, in the next paragraphs, science is a backdrop for my introspective thoughts. In discussing orbits, albeit in a superficial way, electrons have circular paths. Tim Ritchie commented, “There really is more space in an atom than matter. That is, there is more nothing than something. Were it not for electromagnetism, nothing would feel "solid" because nothing IS solid.”
Since I can not physically split a hair, I struggle to imagine the tiniest of worlds at the atomic level. I haven’t traveled there. It’s almost easier for me to comprehend an AU (distance from Earth to Sun) because I’ve walked a mile and driven cross country, so I can extrapolate distance and time to imagine a trek of an orbiting planet.
According to a Wiki article on the structure of an atom, “The nucleus is very small compared to the whole atom; its size is 100,000 times smaller than the atom's. The rest of the atom is made of the outer electron shell. To put the sizes in perspective, if the atom were the size of a football stadium, the atom's nucleus would be the size of a pea in the middle. Most of an atom is empty space which is occupied by the electron cloud.” ‘Electron cloud’?! All I know, thanks to science, is about running around in a fog of what I don’t know!
Similar to the electron orbit, I move around in routine paths in “my little world”. As I circle my home I consider my sphere of influence in church, work, school, but there’s so much intermediary space that I never touch or meet or know… But because we each do our parts and through interconnectedness we hold our lives together. That should give us some hope in these economic times. We’re still going about our days and we’ll see the sun tomorrow.
Thanks to science I know that both orbiting planets and man made satellites circle because of gravitational forces. Johannes Kepler defined planetary motion 400 years ago. For his seminal work, Astronomia Nova, scientists are celebrating The YEAR OF ASTRONOMY 2009. Galileo’s work is commemorated equally as well also in this 2009 International year of emphasis. Four hundred years ago! AMAZING! I couldn’t point to and prove a planet’s path in the heavens if I had to. Once again, I know so little.
I find it fascinating to read online about THE Kepler, NASA’s newest mission which launched March 6. It is searching for planets like Earth. (NASA’s news is often off the radar for prime time news. Even for the inaugural parade NASA’s float was the very last in the line-up. Many, no most, had already gone home to change for an inauguaral ball.)
YET, a century from now, what NASA accomplishes may be what will be remembered and repeated for the noteworthy discoveries of the early 21st century. For the next two weeks Kepler’s telescopes will finish up with their callibrations--handled remotely from space. It has special photometers which are to work for 3.5 years. Kepler will look closely at 100,000 stars and their planets in our galaxy. AMAZING!
William Borucki, who has worked on the mission for 17 years said, “Everyone is very excited as our dream becomes a reality. We are on the verge of learning if other Earths are ubiquitous [widespread] in the galaxy.” “Even if we find no planets like Earth, that by itself would be profound. It would indicate that we are probably alone in the galaxy,” said Borucki.
He said profound… There are so many things that are profound--that leave me in opened mouth surprise. It’s science that stops us and makes us think. “Mzungu, [here meaning 21st century folk, have a good day. AND thanks for all you do in your circle of influence.”
Up front, in the next paragraphs, science is a backdrop for my introspective thoughts. In discussing orbits, albeit in a superficial way, electrons have circular paths. Tim Ritchie commented, “There really is more space in an atom than matter. That is, there is more nothing than something. Were it not for electromagnetism, nothing would feel "solid" because nothing IS solid.”
Since I can not physically split a hair, I struggle to imagine the tiniest of worlds at the atomic level. I haven’t traveled there. It’s almost easier for me to comprehend an AU (distance from Earth to Sun) because I’ve walked a mile and driven cross country, so I can extrapolate distance and time to imagine a trek of an orbiting planet.
According to a Wiki article on the structure of an atom, “The nucleus is very small compared to the whole atom; its size is 100,000 times smaller than the atom's. The rest of the atom is made of the outer electron shell. To put the sizes in perspective, if the atom were the size of a football stadium, the atom's nucleus would be the size of a pea in the middle. Most of an atom is empty space which is occupied by the electron cloud.” ‘Electron cloud’?! All I know, thanks to science, is about running around in a fog of what I don’t know!
Similar to the electron orbit, I move around in routine paths in “my little world”. As I circle my home I consider my sphere of influence in church, work, school, but there’s so much intermediary space that I never touch or meet or know… But because we each do our parts and through interconnectedness we hold our lives together. That should give us some hope in these economic times. We’re still going about our days and we’ll see the sun tomorrow.
Thanks to science I know that both orbiting planets and man made satellites circle because of gravitational forces. Johannes Kepler defined planetary motion 400 years ago. For his seminal work, Astronomia Nova, scientists are celebrating The YEAR OF ASTRONOMY 2009. Galileo’s work is commemorated equally as well also in this 2009 International year of emphasis. Four hundred years ago! AMAZING! I couldn’t point to and prove a planet’s path in the heavens if I had to. Once again, I know so little.
I find it fascinating to read online about THE Kepler, NASA’s newest mission which launched March 6. It is searching for planets like Earth. (NASA’s news is often off the radar for prime time news. Even for the inaugural parade NASA’s float was the very last in the line-up. Many, no most, had already gone home to change for an inauguaral ball.)
YET, a century from now, what NASA accomplishes may be what will be remembered and repeated for the noteworthy discoveries of the early 21st century. For the next two weeks Kepler’s telescopes will finish up with their callibrations--handled remotely from space. It has special photometers which are to work for 3.5 years. Kepler will look closely at 100,000 stars and their planets in our galaxy. AMAZING!
William Borucki, who has worked on the mission for 17 years said, “Everyone is very excited as our dream becomes a reality. We are on the verge of learning if other Earths are ubiquitous [widespread] in the galaxy.” “Even if we find no planets like Earth, that by itself would be profound. It would indicate that we are probably alone in the galaxy,” said Borucki.
He said profound… There are so many things that are profound--that leave me in opened mouth surprise. It’s science that stops us and makes us think. “Mzungu, [here meaning 21st century folk, have a good day. AND thanks for all you do in your circle of influence.”
Youth by Samuel Ullman [with a little updating by Gay Johnson for the occasion of Maryann Manning's birthday]
Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind;
it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, ~ red lips ~ and supple knees;
it is a matter of the will, ~ a quality of the imagination, ~ a vigor of the emotions;
it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.
Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage ~ over timidity,
for adventure ~ over the ~ love of ease.
This often exists in a person of seventy ~ more than a body of twenty.
Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.
We grow old by deserting our ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.
Worry, fear, and self-distrust constrict the heart and turn the spirit back to dust.
Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every human heart the lure of wonder,
the unfailing child-like appetite of what's next, and the joy of the game of living.
In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wi-fi antenna;
so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power
from people and from the Infinite, then we are young.
When the circuits are down,
and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism,
then you are grown old, ~ even at twenty,
but as long as your receiver can catch the wave of optimism,
there is hope you may die young at a hundred.
it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, ~ red lips ~ and supple knees;
it is a matter of the will, ~ a quality of the imagination, ~ a vigor of the emotions;
it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.
Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage ~ over timidity,
for adventure ~ over the ~ love of ease.
This often exists in a person of seventy ~ more than a body of twenty.
Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.
We grow old by deserting our ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.
Worry, fear, and self-distrust constrict the heart and turn the spirit back to dust.
Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every human heart the lure of wonder,
the unfailing child-like appetite of what's next, and the joy of the game of living.
In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wi-fi antenna;
so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power
from people and from the Infinite, then we are young.
When the circuits are down,
and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism,
then you are grown old, ~ even at twenty,
but as long as your receiver can catch the wave of optimism,
there is hope you may die young at a hundred.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
R R R
Uncle Sam’s fiance’ is Auntie Litter! (That is, if you ask Auntie Litter). Have you met her? She lives in Vestavia and is not dressed in red, white, and blue. She’s always dressed in green, white, and blue and is ever busy giving programs in schools urging “anti-litter”. Her colors are symbolic of clean air, water, and land. Of course she also promotes “Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle” like the emblem on the bottom of all plastic containers. Arrow–Arrow– Arrow is as prevalent now as the Three R’s were for us as children.
The founder of the Interfaith Power & Light movement, has said, “No institution is more suited to preach clean air, water, and land than the institution that professes a love of God and God's creation." Yes, we church members can R R R.
Tips:
REDUCE: Junk mail and unwanted catalogs use 100 million trees and cost taxpayers (you) 320 million dollars for disposal each year. Not to mention the fuel used to deliver and take away the junk mail. To stop getting junk mail, call the companies that send it. Alternatively visit: www.dmachoice.org to set preferences for your marketing mail.
REUSE: Can’t sell that old car? Consider donating it to a missionary. Want more information? Visit macedoniancall.net
RECYCLE: Buy products made of recycled materials. Have you seen the pencils made of old newspapers? There are several manufacturers. One reports on its website: Recycling a two-foot stack of newspapers to make a pencil saves one 20 ft. pine tree.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
It's a God Thing! Nov 16
I have a good story for today, November 16, 2008.
A stranger befriended me. I really am thankful. After church, I was on the way to the nursing home to meet Mom. We had ordered dinner to eat with Daddy at noon. Just yesterday was their 58th wedding anniversary!
I swerved listening to music on the radio and rode on the shoulder. In the process my car banged into a BIG hole. Then it seemed to be veering to the right and I figured the plugged tire popped. I limped to a nearby Express Oil and stopped in their drive. Sure enough it was flat. But they were closed on Sunday. I started moving all the stuff out of my trunk in order to uncover the spare.
But I couldn't figure out how to unhitch it to get it out of the trunk. I decided to walk to the washeteria to wash my hands and figure out who could come pick me up. By this time I decided the car could just stay in that spot until Monday morning when I could ask some Oil Changer guy to change the tire. As I was leaving, the manager of the washeteria said, "You know Firestone is around the corner and it's open on Sunday." I thanked her for the tip because I hadn't thought of that.
I walked out the door and a white car drove slowly by, "Do you own that Prius that has a flat? I'll change it for you"
Turns out he had left work and gone to the nearby Winn Dixie to get some sinus medicine. He's the manager of the very same Firestone! He changed my tire! I told him I felt blessed by the Lord. He said he hoped if his mother ever had a problem someone would help her. (I guess I do look old enough to be his mom--dang it.)
It reminded me of a time years ago when I got upset and told the Lord if he didn't give me a husband, he was going to have to BE my husband. So today, I felt protected and provided for, as I have many times. And I made it to lunch on time. So Yeah for Steven at Firestone! There ARE kind people in this world. And I want to be one, don't you?
(with picture from FLICKR)
A stranger befriended me. I really am thankful. After church, I was on the way to the nursing home to meet Mom. We had ordered dinner to eat with Daddy at noon. Just yesterday was their 58th wedding anniversary!
I swerved listening to music on the radio and rode on the shoulder. In the process my car banged into a BIG hole. Then it seemed to be veering to the right and I figured the plugged tire popped. I limped to a nearby Express Oil and stopped in their drive. Sure enough it was flat. But they were closed on Sunday. I started moving all the stuff out of my trunk in order to uncover the spare.
But I couldn't figure out how to unhitch it to get it out of the trunk. I decided to walk to the washeteria to wash my hands and figure out who could come pick me up. By this time I decided the car could just stay in that spot until Monday morning when I could ask some Oil Changer guy to change the tire. As I was leaving, the manager of the washeteria said, "You know Firestone is around the corner and it's open on Sunday." I thanked her for the tip because I hadn't thought of that.
I walked out the door and a white car drove slowly by, "Do you own that Prius that has a flat? I'll change it for you"
Turns out he had left work and gone to the nearby Winn Dixie to get some sinus medicine. He's the manager of the very same Firestone! He changed my tire! I told him I felt blessed by the Lord. He said he hoped if his mother ever had a problem someone would help her. (I guess I do look old enough to be his mom--dang it.)
It reminded me of a time years ago when I got upset and told the Lord if he didn't give me a husband, he was going to have to BE my husband. So today, I felt protected and provided for, as I have many times. And I made it to lunch on time. So Yeah for Steven at Firestone! There ARE kind people in this world. And I want to be one, don't you?
(with picture from FLICKR)
Saturday, November 01, 2008
It's a God Thing!
Jessica Busko, a member of Dawson while studying at UAB, is to be married in November before 2008 ends. Read what her fiance, a student in Louisiana writes about her.
My Miracle Friend-- by Daniel Ruiz
It was summer, 2007 in West Africa. I stepped off an old bus in the hot, mid-day Saharan sun after nearly 10 hours of rough travel and throwing up with a stomach virus. Now, I don't exactly know how I feel about the whole "love at first sight" stuff, but I know that there was something special about this girl I met in the middle of the bush.
By July I was captivated by Jessica’s raw passion to love people and to share the love that God has for everyone. She’s got so much dedication and such an unselfish attitude towards others. I began to ask God to either give me Jessica to be my wife in the future, or give me a girl that had the exact same character and qualities. The only problem with all this was that I had no idea how it would ever work out. She was to remain in Niger for another 5 months and then return to the States to do who knew what. I knew her parents live in Kentucky. I figured she would end up there. I was returning to school in Louisiana. But at that time I wasn’t thinking how God works!
Jessica and I kept in touch through e-mail and were able to get to know each other and pray for each other even more. Then she was "randomly" sent by the IMB to my home church to tell students about her experience as a Journeyman. Now, if you want to call this a coincidence, I will say you are crazy! Suddenly I had a miracle friend with whom I could talk and reminisce about Africa, and she had me to encourage her and be her friend. It didn't take long for me to realize that she was--no doubt about it--the girl for me.
As we began talking about our relationship I had a dream of proposing to her in Niger… but I quickly dismissed that as just a daydream. Then it came to me more than once. It was something I couldn't ignore. I returned to Niger for the summer of 2008. I knew that going back to the desert and the separation from her would be very difficult, but I knew it was what God wanted for me. Then through other amazing circumstances she planned a trip to Niger. We wanted to visit the place where we had worked together the previous summer.
We hadn't seen each other for close to 80 straight days. She flew in early on August 5th, and I could barely hold back my proposal. That night, this miracle friend that God has so graciously given me...said yes!!
I didn't go to Africa looking for a wife, yet the whole time God was putting the pieces of His story together and He worked everything out from the beginning. It has been the greatest blessing God has ever given me, next to salvation. God has shown me a glimpse of how much He truly loves us through my relationship with Jessica.
There is no way to explain our story other than giving absolutely all credit to God. I could have never come up with a story such as ours, much less made it work. If you will just commit yourself fully to the Lord and keep your focus only on Him, all the rest will truly fall into place. [They will get married in November and will one day return to Africa.]
My Miracle Friend-- by Daniel Ruiz
It was summer, 2007 in West Africa. I stepped off an old bus in the hot, mid-day Saharan sun after nearly 10 hours of rough travel and throwing up with a stomach virus. Now, I don't exactly know how I feel about the whole "love at first sight" stuff, but I know that there was something special about this girl I met in the middle of the bush.
By July I was captivated by Jessica’s raw passion to love people and to share the love that God has for everyone. She’s got so much dedication and such an unselfish attitude towards others. I began to ask God to either give me Jessica to be my wife in the future, or give me a girl that had the exact same character and qualities. The only problem with all this was that I had no idea how it would ever work out. She was to remain in Niger for another 5 months and then return to the States to do who knew what. I knew her parents live in Kentucky. I figured she would end up there. I was returning to school in Louisiana. But at that time I wasn’t thinking how God works!
Jessica and I kept in touch through e-mail and were able to get to know each other and pray for each other even more. Then she was "randomly" sent by the IMB to my home church to tell students about her experience as a Journeyman. Now, if you want to call this a coincidence, I will say you are crazy! Suddenly I had a miracle friend with whom I could talk and reminisce about Africa, and she had me to encourage her and be her friend. It didn't take long for me to realize that she was--no doubt about it--the girl for me.
As we began talking about our relationship I had a dream of proposing to her in Niger… but I quickly dismissed that as just a daydream. Then it came to me more than once. It was something I couldn't ignore. I returned to Niger for the summer of 2008. I knew that going back to the desert and the separation from her would be very difficult, but I knew it was what God wanted for me. Then through other amazing circumstances she planned a trip to Niger. We wanted to visit the place where we had worked together the previous summer.
We hadn't seen each other for close to 80 straight days. She flew in early on August 5th, and I could barely hold back my proposal. That night, this miracle friend that God has so graciously given me...said yes!!
I didn't go to Africa looking for a wife, yet the whole time God was putting the pieces of His story together and He worked everything out from the beginning. It has been the greatest blessing God has ever given me, next to salvation. God has shown me a glimpse of how much He truly loves us through my relationship with Jessica.
There is no way to explain our story other than giving absolutely all credit to God. I could have never come up with a story such as ours, much less made it work. If you will just commit yourself fully to the Lord and keep your focus only on Him, all the rest will truly fall into place. [They will get married in November and will one day return to Africa.]
Friday, September 19, 2008
Submission to Birmingham News
Gibson asked Palin about "The Bush Doctrine". I wish he'd asked herabout "The Imperial Presidency". How ironic that we can attribute it to the country's more conservative party. It seems the Presidency has
become flameproof to the other two branches of government.
Obama taught Constitutional and Civil Rights law. I believe he's studied and knows the history and precedence of power--its uses and abuses. I believe that he wants to use the office of the Presidency to rally the people from a grass roots level to pursue policies good for the little man as well as for business. That's a ground swell policy position of "planting trees by rivers of water".
Yes, McCain wants to reform America. He suggested firing Cox, in order to choose another to oversee regulation. I've had enough of trickle down policies. In 1980 the average CEO made 42 times what an average hourly worker took home. By 2005 the ratio was 262 to 1. We need broken ways remade not reformed, AND with the Constitution in mind!
There are two types of workers in America, the vast majority of us are worker ants and a relative few are elephants. There are millions of us but the elephants throw their weight around and work solely for monetary reward. Remember how Aesop used the mice to get the lion out of the net? We taxpayers are scheduled to bale out the greedy investment bankers.
Are you for McSame or Change for the 21st century?
I'm an oBAMAian living in Birmingham, AL.
(I submitted it, but it was not published)
become flameproof to the other two branches of government.
Obama taught Constitutional and Civil Rights law. I believe he's studied and knows the history and precedence of power--its uses and abuses. I believe that he wants to use the office of the Presidency to rally the people from a grass roots level to pursue policies good for the little man as well as for business. That's a ground swell policy position of "planting trees by rivers of water".
Yes, McCain wants to reform America. He suggested firing Cox, in order to choose another to oversee regulation. I've had enough of trickle down policies. In 1980 the average CEO made 42 times what an average hourly worker took home. By 2005 the ratio was 262 to 1. We need broken ways remade not reformed, AND with the Constitution in mind!
There are two types of workers in America, the vast majority of us are worker ants and a relative few are elephants. There are millions of us but the elephants throw their weight around and work solely for monetary reward. Remember how Aesop used the mice to get the lion out of the net? We taxpayers are scheduled to bale out the greedy investment bankers.
Are you for McSame or Change for the 21st century?
I'm an oBAMAian living in Birmingham, AL.
(I submitted it, but it was not published)
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Finley for Gail by Gayle Becker
Last summer Ann Holsten, a member of SARA FINLEY’s Sunday School class, requested prayer for Gail who was having a difficult time with financial problems and a husband who was ill. Ann mentioned that Gail could benefit greatly if she could have a guide dog to assist her. Gail, who has been blind for almost forty years, had always dreamed of having her own seeing eye dog.
When I heard Ann’s prayer request, I thought of possibilities. Over the years I’ve adopted two retired guide dogs from Guiding Eyes for the Blind in New York and have had contacts with several of the staff there.
Gail was ecstatic to learn that she could apply for a guide dog. As time passed and the application process proceeded Gail became more and more excited at the thought of getting a special dog.
The FINLEY class became interested in this project and supported Gail with their prayers and financial gifts. When Gail was finally accepted and enrolled in the June training class, I suggested that she consider naming her guide dog Finley after the Sunday School class that had given her so much support. I explained this needed to be changed and registered there in New York because the dogs are carefully documented by the organization.
When Gail arrived in New York in June she learned her dog would be assigned on the third day. When she called Ann and me to tell us about her wonderful dog, she announced that his name was FINLEY. He had been born at the Breeding Center of the Guiding Eyes for the Blind two years earlier and this little puppy had been given the name of FINLEY at that time. He didn’t need to be renamed. I firmly believe that this was a “God Thing”! That puppy was being prepared to fulfill the life long dream of a lady in Alabama who needed a dog to enrich her life.
Gail said the first time she walked with her beautiful black Labrador Retriever she experienced the overwhelming feeling of freedom and security. She knew she could trust him to keep her safe. During their training period he helped her navigate Grand Central Station, subways, and the busy streets of Manhattan. He continues to lovingly take care of her daily. Finley is a gift from God and has changed Gail’s life forever.
There was another “God Thing”. Gail, a 52 year old woman whose income barely covers her food and utilities, was flown round trip and professionally trained at a world premier guide dog facility, leaving there with a dog valued at $45,000--all at no cost to her!
Truly God does work in mysterious ways!
When I heard Ann’s prayer request, I thought of possibilities. Over the years I’ve adopted two retired guide dogs from Guiding Eyes for the Blind in New York and have had contacts with several of the staff there.
Gail was ecstatic to learn that she could apply for a guide dog. As time passed and the application process proceeded Gail became more and more excited at the thought of getting a special dog.
The FINLEY class became interested in this project and supported Gail with their prayers and financial gifts. When Gail was finally accepted and enrolled in the June training class, I suggested that she consider naming her guide dog Finley after the Sunday School class that had given her so much support. I explained this needed to be changed and registered there in New York because the dogs are carefully documented by the organization.
When Gail arrived in New York in June she learned her dog would be assigned on the third day. When she called Ann and me to tell us about her wonderful dog, she announced that his name was FINLEY. He had been born at the Breeding Center of the Guiding Eyes for the Blind two years earlier and this little puppy had been given the name of FINLEY at that time. He didn’t need to be renamed. I firmly believe that this was a “God Thing”! That puppy was being prepared to fulfill the life long dream of a lady in Alabama who needed a dog to enrich her life.
Gail said the first time she walked with her beautiful black Labrador Retriever she experienced the overwhelming feeling of freedom and security. She knew she could trust him to keep her safe. During their training period he helped her navigate Grand Central Station, subways, and the busy streets of Manhattan. He continues to lovingly take care of her daily. Finley is a gift from God and has changed Gail’s life forever.
There was another “God Thing”. Gail, a 52 year old woman whose income barely covers her food and utilities, was flown round trip and professionally trained at a world premier guide dog facility, leaving there with a dog valued at $45,000--all at no cost to her!
Truly God does work in mysterious ways!
Friday, July 18, 2008
The Global Food Crisis
I received a postcard from Compassion.Com to pray and fast on June 25 for the current Global Food Crisis. If you are not aware of this international dilemma, it is important for caring Christians to educate themselves! Here locally we may be complaining about increases in food and gas prices. It is nothing compared to situations in developing countries. Consider the implications of rice prices which have risen dramatically this year. It’s the major food for half the world. How do people who live on less than $2. a day, and who spend 80% of their income on food, handle enormous increases in food prices?! They skip meals.
I took this plea for prayer to Sunday School. Its timeliness fit with our Romans lesson which included verse 8 in chapter 12: “If we can encourage others, we should encourage them. If we can give, we should be generous. If we are leaders, we should do our best. If we are good to others, we should do it cheerfully.”
In our 8:30 International Sunday School Class discussion, Mr. Song related how he survived during a decade (or two) of rebuilding in Korea. He recounted going to the mountains to gather roots to supplement meals without rice. Those were the days in his boyhood when the average annual income level was $30! He told us President Park’s development plans included planting new types of rice seed and rallying Koreans to work together for a new future. He gave his story as evidence that we should indeed pray for a change in international political influence in this current 2008 Food Crisis. Political policy can be dramatically beneficial. Leadership is important. His generation and South Korea today are living proof.
Our Sunday School class discussion was lively and I felt God’s leadership that Sunday. It's a God Thing!
I took this plea for prayer to Sunday School. Its timeliness fit with our Romans lesson which included verse 8 in chapter 12: “If we can encourage others, we should encourage them. If we can give, we should be generous. If we are leaders, we should do our best. If we are good to others, we should do it cheerfully.”
In our 8:30 International Sunday School Class discussion, Mr. Song related how he survived during a decade (or two) of rebuilding in Korea. He recounted going to the mountains to gather roots to supplement meals without rice. Those were the days in his boyhood when the average annual income level was $30! He told us President Park’s development plans included planting new types of rice seed and rallying Koreans to work together for a new future. He gave his story as evidence that we should indeed pray for a change in international political influence in this current 2008 Food Crisis. Political policy can be dramatically beneficial. Leadership is important. His generation and South Korea today are living proof.
Our Sunday School class discussion was lively and I felt God’s leadership that Sunday. It's a God Thing!
Monday, June 30, 2008
The Priviledge of Prayer
Sally Smith was one of several Dawson members to go to Egypt in April. She and Debbie Moss recently shared their travel experiences with the Tuesday night group, "Mission Hearted Women" which meets monthly.
“I have been so blessed to have gone on several international mission trips with Dawson groups. On this recent trip to Egypt I realized again that prayer is THE most essential and powerful component of any venture. Prayer is the core of every trip. Prayer gets you in focus for what you are going for. You feel inadequate when you anticipate a trip, but then you feel God’s power and strength when you live in a prayerful attitude.”
She explained the role of prayer in their trip. Before they left, they had orientation meetings. Sally spoke of how prayer helped center their group as they set their purpose to serve the Lord. It focused their intentions. Sally said they set out to dedicate their services as a medical team--to dedicate their deeds--as if serving the LORD. They also prayed that on the mission trip meaningful relationships with Egyptian Christians and Muslims would be initiated. And finally their third thrust was to go as encouragers for the missionaries and their work.
The missionary couple who hosted them has been there 9 years. They live in hope and trust that planting seeds for spiritual development is pleasing the LORD. The Muslims are very committed to their faith. Egypt is NOT now “a field white unto harvest”--it’s a germinating seed bed.
Sally was impressed with how the missionaries rely on prayer. When talking of needs for their work, our missionaries didn’t mention finances, but they requested prayer and said how they want to feel the undergirding of the power of prayer in their endeavors.
Sally’s talking points: * None of us should minimize the importance of prayer. God already knows our heart’s desires, but in His grace he gives us the opportunity to know His heart through prayer and the reading of His word. **Prayer is the pathway to God’s presence. ***It is the greatest privilege God has given us: to communicate with Him. ****Remember that the disciples didn’t ask Jesus to teach them how to heal or how to preach or how to teach. They asked Jesus to teach them how to pray. *****It was humbling to see the Egyptian Christians pray with open eyes, in coded phrases, and with open hands. Their hands, like their hearts, are open to God’s way.
Finally Sally said that when she talks about these mission trips, other people say how they wish they could go... Sally’s response is always, “You may not be able to go on a mission trip physically, but you can still be involved. It all begins with prayer.”
“I have been so blessed to have gone on several international mission trips with Dawson groups. On this recent trip to Egypt I realized again that prayer is THE most essential and powerful component of any venture. Prayer is the core of every trip. Prayer gets you in focus for what you are going for. You feel inadequate when you anticipate a trip, but then you feel God’s power and strength when you live in a prayerful attitude.”
She explained the role of prayer in their trip. Before they left, they had orientation meetings. Sally spoke of how prayer helped center their group as they set their purpose to serve the Lord. It focused their intentions. Sally said they set out to dedicate their services as a medical team--to dedicate their deeds--as if serving the LORD. They also prayed that on the mission trip meaningful relationships with Egyptian Christians and Muslims would be initiated. And finally their third thrust was to go as encouragers for the missionaries and their work.
The missionary couple who hosted them has been there 9 years. They live in hope and trust that planting seeds for spiritual development is pleasing the LORD. The Muslims are very committed to their faith. Egypt is NOT now “a field white unto harvest”--it’s a germinating seed bed.
Sally was impressed with how the missionaries rely on prayer. When talking of needs for their work, our missionaries didn’t mention finances, but they requested prayer and said how they want to feel the undergirding of the power of prayer in their endeavors.
Sally’s talking points: * None of us should minimize the importance of prayer. God already knows our heart’s desires, but in His grace he gives us the opportunity to know His heart through prayer and the reading of His word. **Prayer is the pathway to God’s presence. ***It is the greatest privilege God has given us: to communicate with Him. ****Remember that the disciples didn’t ask Jesus to teach them how to heal or how to preach or how to teach. They asked Jesus to teach them how to pray. *****It was humbling to see the Egyptian Christians pray with open eyes, in coded phrases, and with open hands. Their hands, like their hearts, are open to God’s way.
Finally Sally said that when she talks about these mission trips, other people say how they wish they could go... Sally’s response is always, “You may not be able to go on a mission trip physically, but you can still be involved. It all begins with prayer.”
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Learning and posting information on the Web
With a click of the title "Learning and posting..." you will see some of the postings for McWane Science Center.
Please leave a comment if you find something useful.
Please leave a comment if you find something useful.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Annie Leonard has done the research
This is chapter 7. It's only about 3 minutes long. And it's provocative AFTER you see what comes before. Enjoy! IF you like it, click the title above to watch her explain our present delimma-about 20 minutes. What a great morning devotional: see her model of change for the 21st century.
It's a graphic documentary, which is VERY well done.
It's a graphic documentary, which is VERY well done.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
It's a God Thing!
My friend Linda Stephens wrote this. She and her husband are "out-of-towners" every weekend because they have their own planes. She wrote this for a monthly church newsletter.
My life is filled with stories that can only be explained by God’s hand in my life. The most recent is the trip last month Danny and I took to Machu Pichu for our 35th wedding anniversary. (Realize we had asked for prayers for safety and health while we were on our adventure in Peru.) The trip was better than we expected and all was great but midway through the trip we saw some demonstrators in the streets. We asked the hotel staff about them and they said there could be a strike, which might affect tourists. So we prayed and for three days they kept telling us, “the strike is delayed until tomorrow”. Thank goodness for manyana. We didn’t think much more about it. Imagine our surprise to see in the newspaper the following week, when we were safe at home, that strikes had closed airports and the trains to Machu Pichu were shut down. Without the delayed strikes our dream trip would have turned into a nightmare. I can only say, “It’s a God thing”.
We’ve had other times God just dropped blessings in our laps. Once while hiking on our favorite island which we’ve frequented a couple of times a year for the past twenty years, the mosquitoes were horrendous and we were getting worried about all the bites. As we were walking on the beach we looked down and there in the waves was a new bottle of bug spray that still worked. Never before or since have we seen such a thing on the beach. For us there’s no explanation except, “It’s a God Thing!”
Once on a hike in the wilderness we were near a rock fall on a desolate trail miles from civilization and it was like an angel tapped me on the shoulder and said jump. Just as I sprang in the air a rattlesnake sprang under my feet. If I had not jumped at that instant I would be singing with the angels now. The snake had not rattled until he recharged which would have been too late to warn me. “What a God Thing!”
Then while backpacking one hot and dry summer with the heat soaring, I needed relief. So I took out some underwear to put on my head to protect me from the heat. I guess God didn’t approve of that sight so in a few feet, right on the trail, was a hat. I felt it was provided just for me. The only explanation was, “It’s a God Thing!”
On another adventure we were hiking in the late afternoon in Yosemite in November. We were still five miles from the end of the trail. In my rush to speed up since the temp was dropping and it had started snowing, I slipped and broke my leg. I was worried about hypothermia, fearing I wouldn’t make it down the mountain before I froze. Within minutes-- behind us-- we heard footsteps and met the only other couple on the mountain who were runners. They literally ran down the mountain to get a ranger to coordinate a rescue. For me, “It’s a God thing” means God really does have a plan to bless us.--Linda Stephens
Friday, February 29, 2008
What are the Millenium Development Goals?--learn them with a game!
Find out about the weekend of April 25-27. It's Global Service Day!
I love the logo for Taking It Global: Inspire! Inform! Involve!
What a great force of individual activists! There are databases of activities to tap. Check out TIG!
I love the logo for Taking It Global: Inspire! Inform! Involve!
What a great force of individual activists! There are databases of activities to tap. Check out TIG!
Monday, February 18, 2008
I sponsor one of about 1 Million kids helped with Compassion
I selected Alejandro from a picture on the web site and because I'd read a book about a kid in Guatamala, "The Most Beautiful Place in the World". I recommend that book because it's about how he learns he can do anything. He is abandoned to the care of his Grandma and slowly learns what love is.
My Compassion kid, Alejandro, is 10 and he lives in a mountainous setting. The avg income there is $100 a month.
His parents are teachers and perhaps they work at the center which Compassion supports.
I get letters from him or his mom about once a month.
You can find a kid to sponsor too. Click the title above to be taken to Compassion to read about current crisis situations where Compassion works. On the menu bar find "Sponsor a Child".
You'll see pictures of children waiting for sponsors. With a mere $32. a month, your child will get medical attention, school supplies, and spiritual guidance.
Pick a child by gender, continent, smiling face or perhaps by whether they have AIDS or have been waiting for more than 6 months to get a sponsor.
You can make a difference in a kid's life for the cost of two canned cokes a day!
My Compassion kid, Alejandro, is 10 and he lives in a mountainous setting. The avg income there is $100 a month.
His parents are teachers and perhaps they work at the center which Compassion supports.
I get letters from him or his mom about once a month.
You can find a kid to sponsor too. Click the title above to be taken to Compassion to read about current crisis situations where Compassion works. On the menu bar find "Sponsor a Child".
You'll see pictures of children waiting for sponsors. With a mere $32. a month, your child will get medical attention, school supplies, and spiritual guidance.
Pick a child by gender, continent, smiling face or perhaps by whether they have AIDS or have been waiting for more than 6 months to get a sponsor.
You can make a difference in a kid's life for the cost of two canned cokes a day!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Consider the possibilities!
The idea? Create a document
in cyberspace with collaborators!
The document is "stored" and "retrieved"
from someplace "in the sky".
Are there reasons to use this?
"Sharing docs made simple!"
Monday, February 04, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sponsor a child--change a life!
This wordless 2 minute film shows you the children Compassion helps. My sponsored child is from Guatamala.
Click the title to go to the page to select a child to sponsor. Click the video here to see the film.
Click the title to go to the page to select a child to sponsor. Click the video here to see the film.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
He's the one for Oprah
Obama Rally in Birmingham Alabama at Bartow Arena on UAB's campus.
Fired up and ready to Go
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Select a candidate
Watch out!
They matched me with someone I didn't expect to be matched with.
Link 1
At the end they show you the results of everyone who's taken it as far as if it's an issue others think to be important, somewhat, or not so important.
Note on my computer in the middle of the page there's a blue scroll down button bar.
The question numbers are not numbered. Pull down the scroll bar to answer all the questions.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Link 2
I found the above link with the following link from a Maine TV station. With their questions I came out in a dead heat with two other candidates. They got the idea and credit MPR. The one above claims it will change over time during the campaign, to fit current issues.
The second one doesn't say it will be updated to go with candidate positions.
Have fun!
Gay
They matched me with someone I didn't expect to be matched with.
Link 1
At the end they show you the results of everyone who's taken it as far as if it's an issue others think to be important, somewhat, or not so important.
Note on my computer in the middle of the page there's a blue scroll down button bar.
The question numbers are not numbered. Pull down the scroll bar to answer all the questions.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Link 2
I found the above link with the following link from a Maine TV station. With their questions I came out in a dead heat with two other candidates. They got the idea and credit MPR. The one above claims it will change over time during the campaign, to fit current issues.
The second one doesn't say it will be updated to go with candidate positions.
Have fun!
Gay
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Literature entries for Reflections Contest
Click either link below to open an audio file. Listen to Dottie and me announce the winning essay.
href="http://www.utterz.com">Utterz. mp3
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Filter Truth--Love Sinners
Live today forgiving.
Otherwise ruminating on sin yields
Venomous bitterness, which wastes heart space where
Eternal energy and heavenly harmony are meant to ferment.
Stimulating reflection and
Intentional living --
Nudged by God -- expands life
Now! not only to replay biblical acts of God, but to produce them today.
Everyday acknowledge His power.
Resolve to differentiate between the action and the actor.
Simply: love sinners.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Gift giving ideas for the holidays
God’s gift, our RELIEF, was delivered in an unexpected package, a boy bundle arriving at an inconvenient time-- while his family was on a road trip. Remember how news of the baby surprised everyone in the story--his mom, his earthly dad, the shepherds, King Herod? And that joyous surprise is the feeling we like to imitate when we give gifts on Christmas morning.
Yet most of the people in crowded Bethlehem were asleep and didn’t even roll over to hear the angels sing. They snored through the God encounters of his life and death -- when HE was modeling how to live righteously. 2000 years later, today, it’s not much different. Only 33% of the world is Christian.(1)
In this Advent season we prepare our hearts to welcome Jesus in new ways in our lives as seasoned Christians. Do we look for HIM in new zones of influence and areas outside our comfort zone? We are his agents “to find and restore”(2) those who need RELIEF. His mission is ours and is to wake people up and surprise them with RELIEF--for people who cower from insecurity, fear, hopelessness, anger, grief, and most of all guilt.
Outside of North America RELIEF is urgently needed to fight hunger and disease. “Globally, about 1 billion people are absolutely poor, living on less than a dollar a day; 162 million live well below that on less than half a dollar a day. ”(3)
So what can be your best Christmas present of 2007? Since the needs are large our gifts to missions need to be very large. This Christmas support the work of the IMB or CBF, whose missions endeavors will provide long lasting and joyous RELIEF(4) for spiritual and physical needs.
http://imbresources.org or 1-800-999-3113
http://www.thefellowship.info/Give/Catalog or 1-800-352-8741
1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_religious_groups
2 Luke 19:10 The Message
3 http://www.ifpri.org
4 my synonym for SALVATION
Yet most of the people in crowded Bethlehem were asleep and didn’t even roll over to hear the angels sing. They snored through the God encounters of his life and death -- when HE was modeling how to live righteously. 2000 years later, today, it’s not much different. Only 33% of the world is Christian.(1)
In this Advent season we prepare our hearts to welcome Jesus in new ways in our lives as seasoned Christians. Do we look for HIM in new zones of influence and areas outside our comfort zone? We are his agents “to find and restore”(2) those who need RELIEF. His mission is ours and is to wake people up and surprise them with RELIEF--for people who cower from insecurity, fear, hopelessness, anger, grief, and most of all guilt.
Outside of North America RELIEF is urgently needed to fight hunger and disease. “Globally, about 1 billion people are absolutely poor, living on less than a dollar a day; 162 million live well below that on less than half a dollar a day. ”(3)
So what can be your best Christmas present of 2007? Since the needs are large our gifts to missions need to be very large. This Christmas support the work of the IMB or CBF, whose missions endeavors will provide long lasting and joyous RELIEF(4) for spiritual and physical needs.
http://imbresources.org or 1-800-999-3113
http://www.thefellowship.info/Give/Catalog or 1-800-352-8741
1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_religious_groups
2 Luke 19:10 The Message
3 http://www.ifpri.org
4 my synonym for SALVATION
Thursday, September 27, 2007
A Dandelion for Mother: Kooser's Column 131
Sometimes beginning writers tell me they get discouraged because it seems that everything has already been written about. But every experience, however commonplace, is unique to he or she who seizes it. There have undoubtedly been many poems about how dandelions pass from yellow to wind-borne gossamer, but this one by the Maryland poet, Jean Nordhaus, offers an experience that was unique to her and is a gift to us.
A Dandelion for My Mother
How I loved those spiky suns,
rooted stubborn as childhood
in the grass, tough as the farmer's
big-headed children--the mats
of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe.
How sturdy they were and how
slowly they turned themselves
into galaxies, domes of ghost stars
barely visible by day, pale
cerebrums clinging to life
on tough green stems. Like you.
Like you, in the end. If you were here,
I'd pluck this trembling globe to show
how beautiful a thing can be
a breath will tear away.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Jean Nordhaus. Reprinted from "Innocence," by Jean Nordhaus, published by Ohio State University Press, 2006, with permission of the publisher. Introduction copyright (c) 2007 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
A Dandelion for My Mother
How I loved those spiky suns,
rooted stubborn as childhood
in the grass, tough as the farmer's
big-headed children--the mats
of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe.
How sturdy they were and how
slowly they turned themselves
into galaxies, domes of ghost stars
barely visible by day, pale
cerebrums clinging to life
on tough green stems. Like you.
Like you, in the end. If you were here,
I'd pluck this trembling globe to show
how beautiful a thing can be
a breath will tear away.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Jean Nordhaus. Reprinted from "Innocence," by Jean Nordhaus, published by Ohio State University Press, 2006, with permission of the publisher. Introduction copyright (c) 2007 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Kooser's Column: 130: Columbus Park
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
A number of American poets are adept at describing places and the people who inhabit them. Galway Kinnell's great poem, "The Avenue Bearing the Initial of Christ into the New World" is one of those masterpieces, and there are many others. Here Anne Pierson Wiese, winner of the Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets, adds to that tradition.
Columbus Park
Down at the end of Baxter Street, where Five Points
slum used to be, just north of Tombs, is a pocket park.
On these summer days the green plane trees' leaves
linger heavy as a noon mist above
the men playing mah jongg--more Chinese
in the air than English. The city's composed
of village greens; we rely on the Thai
place on the corner: Tom Kha for a cold,
jasmine tea for fever, squid for love, Duck Yum
for loneliness. Outside, the grove of heat,
narrow streets where people wrestle rash and unseen
angels; inside, the coolness of a glen and the wait staff
in their pale blue collars offering ice water.
Whatever you've done or undone, there's a dish for you
to take out or eat in: spice for courage, sweet for chagrin.
A number of American poets are adept at describing places and the people who inhabit them. Galway Kinnell's great poem, "The Avenue Bearing the Initial of Christ into the New World" is one of those masterpieces, and there are many others. Here Anne Pierson Wiese, winner of the Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets, adds to that tradition.
Columbus Park
Down at the end of Baxter Street, where Five Points
slum used to be, just north of Tombs, is a pocket park.
On these summer days the green plane trees' leaves
linger heavy as a noon mist above
the men playing mah jongg--more Chinese
in the air than English. The city's composed
of village greens; we rely on the Thai
place on the corner: Tom Kha for a cold,
jasmine tea for fever, squid for love, Duck Yum
for loneliness. Outside, the grove of heat,
narrow streets where people wrestle rash and unseen
angels; inside, the coolness of a glen and the wait staff
in their pale blue collars offering ice water.
Whatever you've done or undone, there's a dish for you
to take out or eat in: spice for courage, sweet for chagrin.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Kooser's Column: 127
Poet Marianne Boruch of Indiana finds a bird's nest near her door. It is the simplest of discoveries, yet she uses it to remind us that what at first seems ordinary, even "made a mess of," can be miraculously transformed upon careful reflection.
Nest
I walked out, and the nest
was already there by the step. Woven basket
of a saint
sent back to life as a bird
who proceeded to make
a mess of things. Wind
right through it, and any eggs
long vanished. But in my hand it was
intricate pleasure, even the thorny reeds
softened in the weave. And the fading
leaf mold, hardly
itself anymore, merely a trick
of light, if light
can be tricked. Deep in a life
is another life. I walked out, the nest
already by the step.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 1996 by Marianne Boruch, whose most recent book of poetry is "Poems: New and Selected," Oberlin College Press, 2004. Reprinted from "A Stick That Breaks And Breaks," Oberlin College Press, 1997, with permission of the author. First published in the journal "Field." Introduction copyright (c) 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
Nest
I walked out, and the nest
was already there by the step. Woven basket
of a saint
sent back to life as a bird
who proceeded to make
a mess of things. Wind
right through it, and any eggs
long vanished. But in my hand it was
intricate pleasure, even the thorny reeds
softened in the weave. And the fading
leaf mold, hardly
itself anymore, merely a trick
of light, if light
can be tricked. Deep in a life
is another life. I walked out, the nest
already by the step.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 1996 by Marianne Boruch, whose most recent book of poetry is "Poems: New and Selected," Oberlin College Press, 2004. Reprinted from "A Stick That Breaks And Breaks," Oberlin College Press, 1997, with permission of the author. First published in the journal "Field." Introduction copyright (c) 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Matinee -- Kooser's Column #124
Here is a lovely poem about survival by Patrick Phillips of New York. People sometimes ask me "What are poems for?" and "Matinee" is an example of the kind of writing that serves its readers, that shows us a way of carrying on.
Matinee
After the biopsy,
after the bone scan,
after the consult and the crying,
for a few hours no one could find them,
not even my sister,
because it turns out
they'd gone to the movies.
Something tragic was playing,
something epic,
and so they went to the comedy
with their popcorn
and their cokes,
the old wife whispering everything twice,
the old husband
cupping a palm to his ear,
as the late sun lit up an orchard
behind the strip mall,
and they sat in the dark holding hands.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Patrick Phillips, whose latest book is "Chattahoochee," University of Arkansas Press, 2004. Reprinted from the "Greensboro Review," Fall 2006, No. 80, with permission of the author. Introduction copyright (c) 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
Matinee
After the biopsy,
after the bone scan,
after the consult and the crying,
for a few hours no one could find them,
not even my sister,
because it turns out
they'd gone to the movies.
Something tragic was playing,
something epic,
and so they went to the comedy
with their popcorn
and their cokes,
the old wife whispering everything twice,
the old husband
cupping a palm to his ear,
as the late sun lit up an orchard
behind the strip mall,
and they sat in the dark holding hands.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Patrick Phillips, whose latest book is "Chattahoochee," University of Arkansas Press, 2004. Reprinted from the "Greensboro Review," Fall 2006, No. 80, with permission of the author. Introduction copyright (c) 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
Friday, July 27, 2007
COMB OVER
Kooser's Column 122--BY TED KOOSER
The chances are very good that you are within a thousand yards of a man with a comb-over, and he may even be somewhere in your house. Here's Maine poet, Wesley McNair, with his commentary on these valorous attempts to disguise hair loss.
Hymn to the Comb-Over
How the thickest of them erupt just
above the ear, cresting in waves so stiff
no wind can move them. Let us praise them
in all of their varieties, some skinny
as the bands of headphones, some rising
from a part that extends halfway around
the head, others four or five strings
stretched so taut the scalp resembles
a musical instrument. Let us praise the sprays
that hold them, and the combs that coax
such abundance to the front of the head
in the mirror, the combers entirely forget
the back. And let us celebrate the combers,
who address the old sorrow of time's passing
day after day, bringing out of the barrenness
of mid-life this ridiculous and wonderful
harvest, no wishful flag of hope, but, thick,
or thin, the flag itself, unfurled for us all
in subways, offices, and malls across America.
The chances are very good that you are within a thousand yards of a man with a comb-over, and he may even be somewhere in your house. Here's Maine poet, Wesley McNair, with his commentary on these valorous attempts to disguise hair loss.
Hymn to the Comb-Over
How the thickest of them erupt just
above the ear, cresting in waves so stiff
no wind can move them. Let us praise them
in all of their varieties, some skinny
as the bands of headphones, some rising
from a part that extends halfway around
the head, others four or five strings
stretched so taut the scalp resembles
a musical instrument. Let us praise the sprays
that hold them, and the combs that coax
such abundance to the front of the head
in the mirror, the combers entirely forget
the back. And let us celebrate the combers,
who address the old sorrow of time's passing
day after day, bringing out of the barrenness
of mid-life this ridiculous and wonderful
harvest, no wishful flag of hope, but, thick,
or thin, the flag itself, unfurled for us all
in subways, offices, and malls across America.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Tortillas
MMM homemade bread. His grandma makes tortillas or flat bread out of corn. Mine always made a quick bread out of corn. She made corn bread every day!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Kooser's Column: 115
Each of the senses has a way of evoking time and place. In this bittersweet poem by Jeffrey Harrison of Massachusetts, birdsong offers reassurance as the speaker copes with loss.
Visitation
Walking past the open window, she is surprised
by the song of the white-throated sparrow
and stops to listen. She has been thinking of
the dead ones she loves--her father who lived
over a century, and her oldest son, suddenly gone
at forty-seven--and she can't help thinking
she has called them back, that they are calling her
in the voices of these birds passing through Ohio
on their spring migration. . . because, after years
of summers in upstate New York, the white-throat
has become something like the family bird.
Her father used to stop whatever he was doing
and point out its clear, whistling song. She hears it
again: "Poor Sam Peabody Peabody Peabody."
She tries not to think, "Poor Andy," but she
has already thought it, and now she is weeping.
But then she hears another, so clear, it's as if
the bird were in the room with her, or in her head,
telling her that everything will be all right.
She cannot see them from her second-story window--
they are hidden in the new leaves of the old maple,
or behind the white blossoms of the dogwood--
but she stands and listens, knowing they will stay
for only a few days before moving on.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Jeffrey Harrison. Reprinted from "Incomplete Knowledge", Four Way Books, 2006, with permission of the publisher. All rights reserved. Introduction copyright (c) 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
Visitation
Walking past the open window, she is surprised
by the song of the white-throated sparrow
and stops to listen. She has been thinking of
the dead ones she loves--her father who lived
over a century, and her oldest son, suddenly gone
at forty-seven--and she can't help thinking
she has called them back, that they are calling her
in the voices of these birds passing through Ohio
on their spring migration. . . because, after years
of summers in upstate New York, the white-throat
has become something like the family bird.
Her father used to stop whatever he was doing
and point out its clear, whistling song. She hears it
again: "Poor Sam Peabody Peabody Peabody."
She tries not to think, "Poor Andy," but she
has already thought it, and now she is weeping.
But then she hears another, so clear, it's as if
the bird were in the room with her, or in her head,
telling her that everything will be all right.
She cannot see them from her second-story window--
they are hidden in the new leaves of the old maple,
or behind the white blossoms of the dogwood--
but she stands and listens, knowing they will stay
for only a few days before moving on.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Jeffrey Harrison. Reprinted from "Incomplete Knowledge", Four Way Books, 2006, with permission of the publisher. All rights reserved. Introduction copyright (c) 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Kooser's Column: 107
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Houdini never gets far from the news. There's always a movie coming out, or a book, and every other magician has to face comparison to the legendary master. Here the California poet, Kay Ryan, encapsulates the man and says something wise about celebrity.
Houdini
Each escape
involved some art,
some hokum, and
at least a brief
incomprehensible
exchange between
the man and metal
during which the
chains were not
so much broken
as he and they
blended. At the
end of each such
mix he had to
extract himself. It
was the hardest
part to get right
routinely: breaking
back into the
same Houdini.
Poem copyright (c) 2004 by Kay Ryan, whose most recent book of poetry is"The Niagara River" Grove Press, 2005. Reprinted from "Poetry," November, 2004, with permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Houdini never gets far from the news. There's always a movie coming out, or a book, and every other magician has to face comparison to the legendary master. Here the California poet, Kay Ryan, encapsulates the man and says something wise about celebrity.
Houdini
Each escape
involved some art,
some hokum, and
at least a brief
incomprehensible
exchange between
the man and metal
during which the
chains were not
so much broken
as he and they
blended. At the
end of each such
mix he had to
extract himself. It
was the hardest
part to get right
routinely: breaking
back into the
same Houdini.
Poem copyright (c) 2004 by Kay Ryan, whose most recent book of poetry is"The Niagara River" Grove Press, 2005. Reprinted from "Poetry," November, 2004, with permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Kooser's Column: 105
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
I've talked often in this column about how poetry can hold a mirror up to life, and I'm especially fond of poems that hold those mirrors up to our most ordinary activities, showing them at their best and brightest. Here Ruth Moose hangs out some laundry and, in an instant, an everyday chore that might have seemed to us to be quite plain is fresh and lovely.
Laundry
All our life
so much laundry;
each day's doing or not
comes clean,
flows off and away
to blend with other sins
of this world. Each day
begins in new skin,
blessed by the elements
charged to take us
out again to do or undo
what's been assigned.
From socks to shirts
the selves we shed
lift off the line
as if they own
a life apart
from the one we offer.
There is joy in clean laundry.
All is forgiven in water, sun
and air. We offer our day's deeds
to the blue-eyed sky, with soap and prayer,
our arms up, then lowered in supplication.
Reprinted from "Making the Bed," Main Street Rag Press, 2004, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 1995 by Ruth Moose, whose latest book of poetry, "The Sleepwalker," Main Street Rag, due out in 2007.
I've talked often in this column about how poetry can hold a mirror up to life, and I'm especially fond of poems that hold those mirrors up to our most ordinary activities, showing them at their best and brightest. Here Ruth Moose hangs out some laundry and, in an instant, an everyday chore that might have seemed to us to be quite plain is fresh and lovely.
Laundry
All our life
so much laundry;
each day's doing or not
comes clean,
flows off and away
to blend with other sins
of this world. Each day
begins in new skin,
blessed by the elements
charged to take us
out again to do or undo
what's been assigned.
From socks to shirts
the selves we shed
lift off the line
as if they own
a life apart
from the one we offer.
There is joy in clean laundry.
All is forgiven in water, sun
and air. We offer our day's deeds
to the blue-eyed sky, with soap and prayer,
our arms up, then lowered in supplication.
Reprinted from "Making the Bed," Main Street Rag Press, 2004, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 1995 by Ruth Moose, whose latest book of poetry, "The Sleepwalker," Main Street Rag, due out in 2007.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
I'm thankful
I took Dad to the zoo this week on a warm preview of spring kind of outing. We saw sqwaking flamingo, a circling elephant, a brilliant peacock, and a baboon with a huge blue nose.
I rolled him around in a newly acquired wheel chair. A friend of mine gave us her mom's chair. Mrs. Rogers has recently gone on to the next life... Kay was looking for a good place for the chair. We're giving it a good home. It's got more plastic than Grandma's did and I can lift it into my back seat by myself. I'm so thankful; we can cover ten times the territory with it.
Anyway, when I pointed to the monkeys at the top of a cage for him to find, he said, "Yeah, there are three". That means he counted, and he said a sentence! He strings together only 6 to 8 words, max, per sentence now. Sometimes they make more sense than at other times. He is more unstable and wobbly on his feet. But he's still Daddy with his great attitude. When we saw the giraffe he said, "Well I'll be..." When we saw a lion really close he said, "Look at that!" in great astonishment. He noticed the zebra and pointed it out to me.
As we left, he said in the parking lot how he had never been there and got me to repeat the word zoo, which was brand new to him! "Well now let me ask you..." and then he couldn't remember what he was going to ask. By the time we got home he had no memory of the animals to share with Mom. So he really lives in the moment. And thankfully, that's not such a bad place.
But when you think of him, think of his winsome smile, and hear him say "Sure" "You bet!" "Well I guess so" "Thank You" (I smile at that spirit) And picture this: he kisses lots of care givers on the cheek. Black, white, old, young, fat, or skinny!
He goes almost every week day to the Adult Day Care Center at the Presbyterian church. I am very thankful for them. VERY!
I often take him in the morning and bring him home in the afternoons. This morning it was so pretty I sang God's Beautiful World while pointing to and naming yellow forsythia, red bud trees, white pear trees, pink azaleas, gorgeous tulips and heads-up daffodils. Somehow that led to talking about heaven and how beautiful it will be too. Plus there he will see his mom and dad and brother and friends. I added how I'll see him when I get there because he'll get there before me. And he gave a short knowing chuckle. Or so I took it. I just never know what he's recieving...
When we got to the Activity Center for those with dimentia, he wanted to know where we were. Inside the locked room, for the wanderers' protection, another client said, "Emmett, come sit here", showing he's got buddies just like he's always had. The care givers think he's a clean freak or neat nik because he picks up crumbs and straightens chairs and keeps his shirt tucked in so nicely. "Is this okay?" When I arrive I find him with his arms crossed, wearing an analytical look scanning the room. I approach and say, "Emmett, I'm Gay, your daughter. Let's go home." And then he claps two or three times, smiles, and takes my hand.
In Grandma's waning days at the nursing home, Daddy always prayed for his mom to enjoy a good quality of life and that's my prayer for him... So far so good. God is good and we're all learning so much about life and each other in this process of saying the long goodbye, as Nancy Reagan referred to the months and years with the disease. So far I'm keeping the same gratitude that Daddy still possesses. There is much for which I can give thanks.
I rolled him around in a newly acquired wheel chair. A friend of mine gave us her mom's chair. Mrs. Rogers has recently gone on to the next life... Kay was looking for a good place for the chair. We're giving it a good home. It's got more plastic than Grandma's did and I can lift it into my back seat by myself. I'm so thankful; we can cover ten times the territory with it.
Anyway, when I pointed to the monkeys at the top of a cage for him to find, he said, "Yeah, there are three". That means he counted, and he said a sentence! He strings together only 6 to 8 words, max, per sentence now. Sometimes they make more sense than at other times. He is more unstable and wobbly on his feet. But he's still Daddy with his great attitude. When we saw the giraffe he said, "Well I'll be..." When we saw a lion really close he said, "Look at that!" in great astonishment. He noticed the zebra and pointed it out to me.
As we left, he said in the parking lot how he had never been there and got me to repeat the word zoo, which was brand new to him! "Well now let me ask you..." and then he couldn't remember what he was going to ask. By the time we got home he had no memory of the animals to share with Mom. So he really lives in the moment. And thankfully, that's not such a bad place.
But when you think of him, think of his winsome smile, and hear him say "Sure" "You bet!" "Well I guess so" "Thank You" (I smile at that spirit) And picture this: he kisses lots of care givers on the cheek. Black, white, old, young, fat, or skinny!
He goes almost every week day to the Adult Day Care Center at the Presbyterian church. I am very thankful for them. VERY!
I often take him in the morning and bring him home in the afternoons. This morning it was so pretty I sang God's Beautiful World while pointing to and naming yellow forsythia, red bud trees, white pear trees, pink azaleas, gorgeous tulips and heads-up daffodils. Somehow that led to talking about heaven and how beautiful it will be too. Plus there he will see his mom and dad and brother and friends. I added how I'll see him when I get there because he'll get there before me. And he gave a short knowing chuckle. Or so I took it. I just never know what he's recieving...
When we got to the Activity Center for those with dimentia, he wanted to know where we were. Inside the locked room, for the wanderers' protection, another client said, "Emmett, come sit here", showing he's got buddies just like he's always had. The care givers think he's a clean freak or neat nik because he picks up crumbs and straightens chairs and keeps his shirt tucked in so nicely. "Is this okay?" When I arrive I find him with his arms crossed, wearing an analytical look scanning the room. I approach and say, "Emmett, I'm Gay, your daughter. Let's go home." And then he claps two or three times, smiles, and takes my hand.
In Grandma's waning days at the nursing home, Daddy always prayed for his mom to enjoy a good quality of life and that's my prayer for him... So far so good. God is good and we're all learning so much about life and each other in this process of saying the long goodbye, as Nancy Reagan referred to the months and years with the disease. So far I'm keeping the same gratitude that Daddy still possesses. There is much for which I can give thanks.
Brick Award Nominees Warm Your Heart
Find out what the Brick Award is and how young people are changing the world. Click the title above to Watch the dozen videos and vote for one enterprise to win $15,000 for making positive changes in the world. I say vote for Kimme Weeks who has community development efforts in six countries in West Africa!
WOW! What a group! From age ten to a grad student--they're meaningfully helping so many people with their causes.
WOW! What a group! From age ten to a grad student--they're meaningfully helping so many people with their causes.
I want to go to Africa with Nick Kristof
AARGH! I'm not the best choice! I’m a “part time educator” at a Science Museum because I recently retired. I still want to go with Nick and write with passion.
So I want to be the first alternate. In case THE candidate you choose, that lucky dog, elopes or has ecoli problems, remember me! I have a passport--ready and able to go! Think of all those baby boomers like myself who want to know what to do in retirement! They may see themselves as me, able to help.
I’ve taught every grade except 11th and 12th in my career--in the affluent neighborhoods of Plano, Texas and in the urban inner city of Birmingham, Alabama. Oh yes, and I taught two years in a private high school in rural East Africa. I know kids --ALL-- to be readable if you listen.
I wonder how schools have changed since I was there. I know enough to know there are Oprah Winfrey legacy type schools everywhere-- but the question is, what’s typical?
Some people claim to be multi-taskers, not I. However with classroom experience I am a whiz at knowing what’s going on in several places at once or listening in stereo. This comes from monitoring groups working simultaneously. I’ve got vision powers like a fly’s -- I’m compound observant. I am a great eavesdropper, as well as listener for what is not said, and asker of clarifying questions.
My undergrad degree at North Texas in Denton was in Secondary Education with a Social Studies Composite minor. In ’82 I got a Masters in Special Education at UAB in Birmingham in order to teach gifted children. Then in ’03 I got Nationally Board Certified.
I can eat most anything put in front of me. Once in Malaysia I kept eating things other visitors wouldn’t eat, so that finally on a dare someone offered me a pickled chicken foot. Since I couldn’t figure out which part of that stalk of claws to put in my mouth first, I let it stay on the plate. Besides, I didn’t like fuchsia colored meat.
I know to say “thank you” in the language of the flag that’s flying. After a cup of coffee I’m off for my morning walk, which gets me going. I can keep up and keep on keepin’ on. But most of all, I would be a good traveling partner for Nick’s project because I care. I belong to ONE but that only means my name is on petitions or I get others to sign petitions at concerts. There’s got to be more that can be done for the sake of the extremely poor.
From UN figures I know that Africa is worse off now than she was 30 years ago when I was there, but I wish I knew why and what I could do to help. I pray. Hmmm, maybe this application is an answer to prayer. I ask people to give goats through Heifer International or to adopt a kid through Compassion.com. It seems that what is really needed is ideas for businesses and money to fund them. I’ve heard the Chinese are more interested in Africa now. Chinese colonialists in the form of consultants? Could that be true? Africa is home to the world’s untapped resources--if not minerals then unexploited consumers.
Poverty is the ager in the petri dish of status quo. And once the brew of “Life Happens” multiplies, the hurdles of disease, illiteracy, and despair become monstrously out of control.
The previous paragraph is the kind of writing I do. The last two sentences went through many rewrites. I like to keep journals, but I’ve never been published. I’ve gotten letters from editors for Guideposts and TIME about why my words didn’t fit. Only my Aunt Frances tells me to keep writing.
Does it count if I sat down and wrote the second I opened the email announcing the contest? If you stretch the perameters, I might be just who you are looking for.
I CAN be away for two weeks straight if I board my dog, JT.
I CAN stay steady as a pilot light, always ready to fire up! (698 words)
So I want to be the first alternate. In case THE candidate you choose, that lucky dog, elopes or has ecoli problems, remember me! I have a passport--ready and able to go! Think of all those baby boomers like myself who want to know what to do in retirement! They may see themselves as me, able to help.
I’ve taught every grade except 11th and 12th in my career--in the affluent neighborhoods of Plano, Texas and in the urban inner city of Birmingham, Alabama. Oh yes, and I taught two years in a private high school in rural East Africa. I know kids --ALL-- to be readable if you listen.
I wonder how schools have changed since I was there. I know enough to know there are Oprah Winfrey legacy type schools everywhere-- but the question is, what’s typical?
Some people claim to be multi-taskers, not I. However with classroom experience I am a whiz at knowing what’s going on in several places at once or listening in stereo. This comes from monitoring groups working simultaneously. I’ve got vision powers like a fly’s -- I’m compound observant. I am a great eavesdropper, as well as listener for what is not said, and asker of clarifying questions.
My undergrad degree at North Texas in Denton was in Secondary Education with a Social Studies Composite minor. In ’82 I got a Masters in Special Education at UAB in Birmingham in order to teach gifted children. Then in ’03 I got Nationally Board Certified.
I can eat most anything put in front of me. Once in Malaysia I kept eating things other visitors wouldn’t eat, so that finally on a dare someone offered me a pickled chicken foot. Since I couldn’t figure out which part of that stalk of claws to put in my mouth first, I let it stay on the plate. Besides, I didn’t like fuchsia colored meat.
I know to say “thank you” in the language of the flag that’s flying. After a cup of coffee I’m off for my morning walk, which gets me going. I can keep up and keep on keepin’ on. But most of all, I would be a good traveling partner for Nick’s project because I care. I belong to ONE but that only means my name is on petitions or I get others to sign petitions at concerts. There’s got to be more that can be done for the sake of the extremely poor.
From UN figures I know that Africa is worse off now than she was 30 years ago when I was there, but I wish I knew why and what I could do to help. I pray. Hmmm, maybe this application is an answer to prayer. I ask people to give goats through Heifer International or to adopt a kid through Compassion.com. It seems that what is really needed is ideas for businesses and money to fund them. I’ve heard the Chinese are more interested in Africa now. Chinese colonialists in the form of consultants? Could that be true? Africa is home to the world’s untapped resources--if not minerals then unexploited consumers.
Poverty is the ager in the petri dish of status quo. And once the brew of “Life Happens” multiplies, the hurdles of disease, illiteracy, and despair become monstrously out of control.
The previous paragraph is the kind of writing I do. The last two sentences went through many rewrites. I like to keep journals, but I’ve never been published. I’ve gotten letters from editors for Guideposts and TIME about why my words didn’t fit. Only my Aunt Frances tells me to keep writing.
Does it count if I sat down and wrote the second I opened the email announcing the contest? If you stretch the perameters, I might be just who you are looking for.
I CAN be away for two weeks straight if I board my dog, JT.
I CAN stay steady as a pilot light, always ready to fire up! (698 words)
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Kooser's Column #99 New Water
My maternal grandparents got their drinking water from a well in the yard, and my disabled uncle carried it sloshing to the house, one bucket of hard red water early every morning. I couldn't resist sharing this lovely little poem by Minnesota poet, Sharon Chmielarz.
New Water
All those years--almost a hundred--
the farm had hard water.
Hard orange. Buckets lined in orange.
Sink and tub and toilet, too,
once they got running water.
And now, in less than a lifetime,
just by changing the well's location,
in the same yard, mind you,
the water's soft, clear, delicious to drink.
All those years to shake your head over.
Look how sweet life has become;
you can see it in the couple who live here,
their calmness as they sit at their table,
the beauty as they offer you new water to drink.
Reprinted by permission of Sharon Chmielarz, whose most recent collection of poems is "The Rhubarb King," Loonfeather Press, 2006. Copyright (c) 2006 by Sharon Chmielarz. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
New Water
All those years--almost a hundred--
the farm had hard water.
Hard orange. Buckets lined in orange.
Sink and tub and toilet, too,
once they got running water.
And now, in less than a lifetime,
just by changing the well's location,
in the same yard, mind you,
the water's soft, clear, delicious to drink.
All those years to shake your head over.
Look how sweet life has become;
you can see it in the couple who live here,
their calmness as they sit at their table,
the beauty as they offer you new water to drink.
Reprinted by permission of Sharon Chmielarz, whose most recent collection of poems is "The Rhubarb King," Loonfeather Press, 2006. Copyright (c) 2006 by Sharon Chmielarz. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Written for Devotional Book
I still remember two separate instances of generosity I felt as a pre-teen. After church I commented on a woman’s unusual earrings. That prompted her to pull them off and hand them to me. “No, no, I don’t want them.” “Well, they hurt my ears anyway,” she insisted.
Another time I was listening to other GA’s recite Bible passages. I was so cold. I can’t remember looking around, squirming, or talking. But I must have motioned somehow, because the next thing I knew, a leader took off her fur coat draped it over my legs letting it drag the floor around my feet. I was aghast she intentionally let it touch the floor!
Those two women’s actions demonstrated self-less-ness. Both ladies are with the LORD now and are remembered for larger deeds with greater ramifications. The first was the editor of the Amarillo Globe News and the second was a philanthropist whose first beneficiary was the Lottie Moon offering and the work of Baptist missionaries worldwide. But these small acts demonstrated how integrated these women were. Their hearts and actions matched. They were practical and acted without ambivalence. Yes, children notice what we do and say. What’s generosity?
G od’s plan: To
E nlist or engage us for a lifetime starting
N ow! Our assignment is to build a heaven on
E arth with other
R ighteous people putting
O thers’ needs high on our “to do” lists.
S elfishness, or “living only in my little world”,
I s opposite of intentional giving to areas in
T he world with desperate needs. Do
Y ou see the need? Reflect His generous spirit!
You show your gratitude through your generous offerings to your needy brothers and sisters, and really toward everyone.
Another time I was listening to other GA’s recite Bible passages. I was so cold. I can’t remember looking around, squirming, or talking. But I must have motioned somehow, because the next thing I knew, a leader took off her fur coat draped it over my legs letting it drag the floor around my feet. I was aghast she intentionally let it touch the floor!
Those two women’s actions demonstrated self-less-ness. Both ladies are with the LORD now and are remembered for larger deeds with greater ramifications. The first was the editor of the Amarillo Globe News and the second was a philanthropist whose first beneficiary was the Lottie Moon offering and the work of Baptist missionaries worldwide. But these small acts demonstrated how integrated these women were. Their hearts and actions matched. They were practical and acted without ambivalence. Yes, children notice what we do and say. What’s generosity?
G od’s plan: To
E nlist or engage us for a lifetime starting
N ow! Our assignment is to build a heaven on
E arth with other
R ighteous people putting
O thers’ needs high on our “to do” lists.
S elfishness, or “living only in my little world”,
I s opposite of intentional giving to areas in
T he world with desperate needs. Do
Y ou see the need? Reflect His generous spirit!
You show your gratitude through your generous offerings to your needy brothers and sisters, and really toward everyone.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Life's Shadows are bigger than Death's--Today's Thoughts
When I hear people who have had cancer speak about how God was there with them, about how life is better after their ordeal-- I listen more intently to that kind of awed praise because it is not spoken quickly or glibly. Cancer survivors prove that life persists. And that's the same content I find in scripture.
God's plan is that we see "God is with us" through the full range of life experiences. God's plan is that we know and communicate with Him and with others-- before, during and after-- all of life experience.
Isaiah wrote about Jesus's sacrifice long before it happened.
Isaiah 53:7-10 Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered or like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence. In miscarried justice, he was led off— to die after being beaten bloody for the sins of God's people. They buried him with the wicked, by throwing him in a grave with a rich man, He was killed even though he had never hurt a soul and only spoke the truth.
Still, it's what God had in mind all along, to crush Him with pain. The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin so that he'd see life come from it—life, life, and more life. And God's plan is still prospering. (my rendition of The Message...)
That Old Testament passage is a sneak preview of "the Good Shepherd concept" which can be found in John 10.
John 10:11 "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." Jesus works at the sheep pen--not as a sheep rustler, or as a hired hand. He leads us as sheep are led, with voice recognition, providing and protecting as a Good Shepherd, ready to die for his sheep. (my rendition of The Message...)
Our God is not constrained by time. HE continually displays how life conquers death. In our lifetime, as 21st century residents, we know that generations before Jesus lived, God had planned, announced and promised his intentional love. We can benefit by using the historical knowledge of Jesus's story as THE metaphor, to claim victory: life leaves a bigger shadow than death. We don't prosper by mental acknowledgment. When God's spirit merges with our spirits we gain deeper understanding. So God is here now, just as he was there in Jesus's time and before. God initiated Jesus's planned birth and knew Jesus would outlast torture and pain. God was present at his death and showed himself to Jesus's friends afterwards.
My prayer: YOU are GOD, God. U B U! I find you there eons ago, here now and believe about the future. You endure! I'm plugging in!
God's plan is that we see "God is with us" through the full range of life experiences. God's plan is that we know and communicate with Him and with others-- before, during and after-- all of life experience.
Isaiah wrote about Jesus's sacrifice long before it happened.
Isaiah 53:7-10 Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered or like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence. In miscarried justice, he was led off— to die after being beaten bloody for the sins of God's people. They buried him with the wicked, by throwing him in a grave with a rich man, He was killed even though he had never hurt a soul and only spoke the truth.
Still, it's what God had in mind all along, to crush Him with pain. The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin so that he'd see life come from it—life, life, and more life. And God's plan is still prospering. (my rendition of The Message...)
That Old Testament passage is a sneak preview of "the Good Shepherd concept" which can be found in John 10.
John 10:11 "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." Jesus works at the sheep pen--not as a sheep rustler, or as a hired hand. He leads us as sheep are led, with voice recognition, providing and protecting as a Good Shepherd, ready to die for his sheep. (my rendition of The Message...)
Our God is not constrained by time. HE continually displays how life conquers death. In our lifetime, as 21st century residents, we know that generations before Jesus lived, God had planned, announced and promised his intentional love. We can benefit by using the historical knowledge of Jesus's story as THE metaphor, to claim victory: life leaves a bigger shadow than death. We don't prosper by mental acknowledgment. When God's spirit merges with our spirits we gain deeper understanding. So God is here now, just as he was there in Jesus's time and before. God initiated Jesus's planned birth and knew Jesus would outlast torture and pain. God was present at his death and showed himself to Jesus's friends afterwards.
My prayer: YOU are GOD, God. U B U! I find you there eons ago, here now and believe about the future. You endure! I'm plugging in!
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Pray for Peace
Proof
Originally uploaded by fastfinger.
What you see pictured is the result of one recent Thursday session with a wet paint brush. It will be my Christmas Greeting this year. "In our war flooded world, pray for peace." People around the world must pray. Those who love the Lord, those families who ache for lost members, those friends stricken with grief over senseless loss of promise and potential--we all must pray for reason and justice and hope. Let us learn to talk and care and help instead of shunning and craving and hating.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Kooser's Column --83--(GJ notes: Mom's name too)
Leaves Rake
Originally uploaded by PIß.
American Life in Poetry BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
The first poem we ran in this column was by David Allan Evans of South Dakota, about a couple washing windows together. You can find that poem and all the others on our website, www.americanlifeinpoetry.org. Here Tania Rochelle of Georgia presents us with another couple, this time raking leaves. I especially like the image of the pair "bent like parentheses/ around their brittle little lawn."
Raking
Anna Bell and Lane, eighty,
make small leaf piles in the heat,
each pile a great joint effort,
like fifty years of marriage,
sharing chores a rusty dance.
In my own yard, the stacks
are big as children, who scatter them,
dodge and limbo the poke
of my rake. We're lucky,
young and straight-boned.
And I feel sorry for the couple,
bent like parentheses
around their brittle little lawn.
I like feeling sorry for them,
the tenderness of it, but only
for a moment: John glides in
like a paper airplane, takes
the children for the weekend,
and I remember,
they're the lucky ones--
shriveled Anna Bell, loving
her crooked Lane.
Reprinted from "Karaoke Funeral," Snake Nation Press, 2003, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2003 by Tania Rochelle. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Corporations make 100 times more
Another job done!
Originally uploaded by nanikore.
An Ethiopian coffee farmer makes 3cents for every $3. the corporations make.
Look into fair trade.
Click the title for a link
Read the next post for details.
See Black Gold, the movie
Where was the crowd? In Wednesday's newspaper article hyping the film "Black Gold," it said there would be limited seating. However, there were plenty of seats.
Who cares about the impoverished of the world? We all should care.
Do you want to learn about the complicated issues of world trade and mono-cropping and the fact that poor farmers get much, much less than fair-market price? Get the facts. The World Trade Organization is not helping the tiny countries, and the World Bank will not subsidize farmers of developing countries. See for yourself how destitute the farmers of Ethiopia are and how much money corporations get for coffee when the farmer gets only 3-8 cents a pound.
Go to the Safari Cup, a cool downtown coffee shop, to see "Black Gold" today, Nov. 11, at noon or 4:30 p.m. You will want to do something for farmers who make less than $2 a day.
The movie helps consumers see and understand why we should be drinking fair-trade coffee. This documentary will stun you. It's excellent. I'm glad it came to town with the Sidewalk Film Festival, and I'm glad it's being shown. It needs an audience.
Who cares about the impoverished of the world? We all should care.
Do you want to learn about the complicated issues of world trade and mono-cropping and the fact that poor farmers get much, much less than fair-market price? Get the facts. The World Trade Organization is not helping the tiny countries, and the World Bank will not subsidize farmers of developing countries. See for yourself how destitute the farmers of Ethiopia are and how much money corporations get for coffee when the farmer gets only 3-8 cents a pound.
Go to the Safari Cup, a cool downtown coffee shop, to see "Black Gold" today, Nov. 11, at noon or 4:30 p.m. You will want to do something for farmers who make less than $2 a day.
The movie helps consumers see and understand why we should be drinking fair-trade coffee. This documentary will stun you. It's excellent. I'm glad it came to town with the Sidewalk Film Festival, and I'm glad it's being shown. It needs an audience.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Kooser's Column --83--Green Tea
Green Tea With Citrus
Originally uploaded by flipster.
American Life in Poetry: Column 083
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Poems of simple pleasure, poems of quiet celebration, well, they aren't anything like those poems we were asked to wrestle with in high school, our teachers insisting that we get a headlock on THE MEANING. This one by Dale Ritterbusch of Wisconsin is more my cup of tea.
Green Tea
There is this tea
I have sometimes,
Pan Long Ying Hao,
so tightly curled
it looks like tiny roots
gnarled, a greenish-gray.
When it steeps, it opens
the way you woke this morning,
stretching, your hands behind
your head, back arched,
toes pointing, a smile steeped
in ceremony, a celebration,
the reaching of your arms.
Reprinted from "Far From the Temple of Heaven," Black Moss Press, April 2006, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2005 by Dale Ritterbusch. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Kooser's Column #81
The ordinary can be made extraordinary through close and transforming observation. Here Tess Gallagher goes to the mailbox to post a letter. We've all done that, haven't we? But notice how closely she pays attention to this simple experience, and how she fits this one moment into the meaning of her life.
Under Stars
The sleep of this night deepens
because I have walked coatless from the house
carrying the white envelope.
All night it will say one name
in its little tin house by the roadside.
I have raised the metal flag
so its shadow under the roadlamp
leaves an imprint on the rain-heavy bushes.
Now I will walk back
thinking of the few lights still on
in the town a mile away.
In the yellowed light of a kitchen
the millworker has finished his coffee,
his wife has laid out the white slices of bread
on the counter. Now while the bed they have left
is still warm, I will think of you, you
who are so far away
you have caused me to look up at the stars.
Tonight they have not moved
from childhood, those games played after dark.
Again I walk into the wet grass
toward the starry voices. Again, I
am the found one, intimate, returned
by all I touch on the way.
"Under Stars" copyright (c) 1987 by Tess Gallagher. Reprinted from "Amplitude: New & Selected Poems" with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota. Gallagher's most recent book of poetry is "Dear Ghosts: Poems," Graywolf Press, 2006. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Under Stars
The sleep of this night deepens
because I have walked coatless from the house
carrying the white envelope.
All night it will say one name
in its little tin house by the roadside.
I have raised the metal flag
so its shadow under the roadlamp
leaves an imprint on the rain-heavy bushes.
Now I will walk back
thinking of the few lights still on
in the town a mile away.
In the yellowed light of a kitchen
the millworker has finished his coffee,
his wife has laid out the white slices of bread
on the counter. Now while the bed they have left
is still warm, I will think of you, you
who are so far away
you have caused me to look up at the stars.
Tonight they have not moved
from childhood, those games played after dark.
Again I walk into the wet grass
toward the starry voices. Again, I
am the found one, intimate, returned
by all I touch on the way.
"Under Stars" copyright (c) 1987 by Tess Gallagher. Reprinted from "Amplitude: New & Selected Poems" with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota. Gallagher's most recent book of poetry is "Dear Ghosts: Poems," Graywolf Press, 2006. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Kooser's Column --78--Moss
American Life in Poetry: Column 078
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Mothers and fathers grow accustomed to being asked by young children, "What's that?" Thus parents relearn the world by having to explain things they haven't thought about in years. In this poem the Illinois poet Bruce Guernsey looks closely at common, everyday moss and tries to explain its nature for us. I admire the way the poem deepens as the moss moves from being a slipcover to wet dust on a gravestone.
Moss
How must it be
to be moss,
that slipcover of rocks?--
imagine,
greening in the dark,
longing for north,
the silence
of birds gone south.
How does moss do it,
all day
in a dank place
and never a cough?--
a wet dust
where light fails,
where the chisel
cut the name.
Reprinted from "Peripheral Vision," published by Small Poetry Press, Pleasant Hill, CA. Copyright (c) 1997 by Bruce Guernsey and reprinted by permission of the author, whose latest book is "The Lost Brigade," Water Press and Media, 2005. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Mothers and fathers grow accustomed to being asked by young children, "What's that?" Thus parents relearn the world by having to explain things they haven't thought about in years. In this poem the Illinois poet Bruce Guernsey looks closely at common, everyday moss and tries to explain its nature for us. I admire the way the poem deepens as the moss moves from being a slipcover to wet dust on a gravestone.
Moss
How must it be
to be moss,
that slipcover of rocks?--
imagine,
greening in the dark,
longing for north,
the silence
of birds gone south.
How does moss do it,
all day
in a dank place
and never a cough?--
a wet dust
where light fails,
where the chisel
cut the name.
Reprinted from "Peripheral Vision," published by Small Poetry Press, Pleasant Hill, CA. Copyright (c) 1997 by Bruce Guernsey and reprinted by permission of the author, whose latest book is "The Lost Brigade," Water Press and Media, 2005. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Kooser's Column #77: Early in the Morning
Li-Young Lee, who lives in Chicago, evokes by the use of carefully chosen images a culture, a time of day, and the understanding of love through the quiet observation of gesture.
Early in the Morning
While the long grain is softening
in the water, gurgling
over a low stove flame, before
the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced
for breakfast, before the birds,
my mother glides an ivory comb
through her hair, heavy
and black as calligrapher's ink.
She sits at the foot of the bed.
My father watches, listens for
the music of comb
against hair.
My mother combs,
pulls her hair back
tight, rolls it
around two fingers, pins it
in a bun to the back of her head.
For half a hundred years she has done this.
My father likes to see it like this.
He says it is kempt.
But I know
it is because of the way
my mother's hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.
Reprinted from "Rose," BOA Editions, Ltd., 1986, by permission of the publisher. Copyright (c) 1986 by Li-Young Lee, whose most recent book of poetry is "Book of My Nights," BOA Editions, Ltd., 2001. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Early in the Morning
While the long grain is softening
in the water, gurgling
over a low stove flame, before
the salted Winter Vegetable is sliced
for breakfast, before the birds,
my mother glides an ivory comb
through her hair, heavy
and black as calligrapher's ink.
She sits at the foot of the bed.
My father watches, listens for
the music of comb
against hair.
My mother combs,
pulls her hair back
tight, rolls it
around two fingers, pins it
in a bun to the back of her head.
For half a hundred years she has done this.
My father likes to see it like this.
He says it is kempt.
But I know
it is because of the way
my mother's hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.
Reprinted from "Rose," BOA Editions, Ltd., 1986, by permission of the publisher. Copyright (c) 1986 by Li-Young Lee, whose most recent book of poetry is "Book of My Nights," BOA Editions, Ltd., 2001. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Kooser's Column #76: Reunion
I'd guess we've all had dreams like the one portrayed in this wistful poem by Tennessee poet Jeff Daniel Marion. And I'd guess that like me, you too have tried to nod off again just to capture a few more moments from the past.
Reunion
Last night in a dream
you came to me. We were young
again and you were smiling,
happy in the way a sparrow in spring
hops from branch to branch.
I took you in my arms
and swung you about, so carefree
was my youth.
What can I say?
That time wears away, draws its lines
on every feature? That we wake
to dark skies whose only answer
is rain, cold as the years
that stretch behind us, blurring
this window far from you.
Reprinted from "Lost & Found," The Sow's Ear Press, Abingdon, VA, 1994, by permission of the author. Poem copyright (c) 1994 by Jeff Daniel Marion, whose most recent book is "Ebbing & Flowing Springs: New and Selected Poems and Prose, 1976-2001," Celtic Cat Publishing, 2002. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Reunion
Last night in a dream
you came to me. We were young
again and you were smiling,
happy in the way a sparrow in spring
hops from branch to branch.
I took you in my arms
and swung you about, so carefree
was my youth.
What can I say?
That time wears away, draws its lines
on every feature? That we wake
to dark skies whose only answer
is rain, cold as the years
that stretch behind us, blurring
this window far from you.
Reprinted from "Lost & Found," The Sow's Ear Press, Abingdon, VA, 1994, by permission of the author. Poem copyright (c) 1994 by Jeff Daniel Marion, whose most recent book is "Ebbing & Flowing Springs: New and Selected Poems and Prose, 1976-2001," Celtic Cat Publishing, 2002. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Kooser's Column #75: Love Worn
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
In many American poems, the poet makes a personal appearance and offers us a revealing monologue from center stage, but there are lots of fine poems in which the poet, a stranger in a strange place, observes the lives of others from a distance and imagines her way into them. This poem by Lita Hooper is a good example of this kind of writing.
Love Worn
In a tavern on the Southside of Chicago
a man sits with his wife. From their corner booth
each stares at strangers just beyond the other's shoulder,
nodding to the songs of their youth. Tonight they will not fight.
Thirty years of marriage sits between them
like a bomb. The woman shifts
then rubs her right wrist as the man recalls the day
when they sat on the porch of her parents' home.
Even then he could feel the absence of something
desired or planned. There was the smell
of a freshly tarred driveway, the slow heat,
him offering his future to folks he did not know.
And there was the blooming magnolia tree in the distance--
its oversized petals like those on the woman's dress,
making her belly even larger, her hands
disappearing into the folds.
When the last neighbor or friend leaves their booth
he stares at her hands, which are now closer to his,
remembers that there had always been some joy. Leaning
closer, he believes he can see their daughter in her eyes.
From "Gathering Ground: A Reader Celebrating Cave Canem's First Decade," University of Michigan Press, 2006, by permission of the author. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Lita Hooper, whose most recent book is "The Art of Work: The Art and Life of Haki Madhubuti," Third World Press, 2006. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
In many American poems, the poet makes a personal appearance and offers us a revealing monologue from center stage, but there are lots of fine poems in which the poet, a stranger in a strange place, observes the lives of others from a distance and imagines her way into them. This poem by Lita Hooper is a good example of this kind of writing.
Love Worn
In a tavern on the Southside of Chicago
a man sits with his wife. From their corner booth
each stares at strangers just beyond the other's shoulder,
nodding to the songs of their youth. Tonight they will not fight.
Thirty years of marriage sits between them
like a bomb. The woman shifts
then rubs her right wrist as the man recalls the day
when they sat on the porch of her parents' home.
Even then he could feel the absence of something
desired or planned. There was the smell
of a freshly tarred driveway, the slow heat,
him offering his future to folks he did not know.
And there was the blooming magnolia tree in the distance--
its oversized petals like those on the woman's dress,
making her belly even larger, her hands
disappearing into the folds.
When the last neighbor or friend leaves their booth
he stares at her hands, which are now closer to his,
remembers that there had always been some joy. Leaning
closer, he believes he can see their daughter in her eyes.
From "Gathering Ground: A Reader Celebrating Cave Canem's First Decade," University of Michigan Press, 2006, by permission of the author. Poem copyright (c) 2006 by Lita Hooper, whose most recent book is "The Art of Work: The Art and Life of Haki Madhubuti," Third World Press, 2006. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Kooser's Column #74: In the Mushroom Summer
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Of taking long walks it has been said that a person can walk off anything. Here David Mason hikes a mountain in his home state, Colorado, and steps away from an undisclosed personal loss into another state, one of healing.
In the Mushroom Summer
Colorado turns Kyoto in a shower,
mist in the pines so thick the crows delight
(or seem to), winging in obscurity.
The ineffectual panic of a squirrel
who chattered at my passing gave me pause
to watch his Ponderosa come and go--
long needles scratching cloud. I'd summited
but knew it only by the wildflower meadow,
the muted harebells, paintbrush, gentian,
scattered among the locoweed and sage.
Today my grief abated like water soaking
underground, its scar a little path
of twigs and needles winding ahead of me
downhill to the next bend. Today I let
the rain soak through my shirt and was unharmed.
Reprinted by permission from "The Hudson Review," Vol. LIX, No. 2 (Summer 2006). Copyright (c) 2006 by David Mason. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Of taking long walks it has been said that a person can walk off anything. Here David Mason hikes a mountain in his home state, Colorado, and steps away from an undisclosed personal loss into another state, one of healing.
In the Mushroom Summer
Colorado turns Kyoto in a shower,
mist in the pines so thick the crows delight
(or seem to), winging in obscurity.
The ineffectual panic of a squirrel
who chattered at my passing gave me pause
to watch his Ponderosa come and go--
long needles scratching cloud. I'd summited
but knew it only by the wildflower meadow,
the muted harebells, paintbrush, gentian,
scattered among the locoweed and sage.
Today my grief abated like water soaking
underground, its scar a little path
of twigs and needles winding ahead of me
downhill to the next bend. Today I let
the rain soak through my shirt and was unharmed.
Reprinted by permission from "The Hudson Review," Vol. LIX, No. 2 (Summer 2006). Copyright (c) 2006 by David Mason. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Read the beginning of this Peace Essay: Click this title
In our Era, the Road to Holiness passes through the world of action.
- Dag Hammarskjold,
originally uploaded by GangaSunshine.
As President Carter said years ago, few people say "Wage Peace". People speak about waging war, which is a strong verb. But peace is danced about so lightly because we don't have a clear image of what it is. I found the pictures on flickr and learned about these bold and courageous teens who dared to speak out. Now I feel wishy-washy myself. Americans like me should speak out against the Iraq war and not be cowed into thinking dissent is un-American. Dissent is the soil for the flowering of freedom and justice.
More waves need to be made. I need to stir the water within my circle of friends. I need to wear a white rose and visualize peace.
http://www.flickr.com/groups/mundouno_/discuss/72157594220604000/
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Kooser's Column--72
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Those who survived the Great Depression of the 1930s have a tough, no-nonsense take on what work is. If when I was young I'd told my father I was looking for fulfilling work, he would have looked at me as if I'd just arrived from Mars. Here the Pennsylvania poet, Jan Beatty, takes on the voice of her father to illustrate the thinking of a generation of Americans.
My Father Teaches Me to Dream
You want to know what work is?
I'll tell you what work is:
Work is work.
You get up. You get on the bus.
You don't look from side to side.
You keep your eyes straight ahead.
That way nobody bothers you--see?
You get off the bus. You work all day.
You get back on the bus at night. Same thing.
You go to sleep. You get up.
You do the same thing again.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
There's no handouts in this life.
All this other stuff you're looking for--
it ain't there.
Work is work.
First printed in "Witness," Volume 10, Number 2, and reprinted by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 1996 by Jan Beatty, whose latest book, "Boneshaker," was published by the University of Pittsburgh Press in 2002.
Those who survived the Great Depression of the 1930s have a tough, no-nonsense take on what work is. If when I was young I'd told my father I was looking for fulfilling work, he would have looked at me as if I'd just arrived from Mars. Here the Pennsylvania poet, Jan Beatty, takes on the voice of her father to illustrate the thinking of a generation of Americans.
My Father Teaches Me to Dream
You want to know what work is?
I'll tell you what work is:
Work is work.
You get up. You get on the bus.
You don't look from side to side.
You keep your eyes straight ahead.
That way nobody bothers you--see?
You get off the bus. You work all day.
You get back on the bus at night. Same thing.
You go to sleep. You get up.
You do the same thing again.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
There's no handouts in this life.
All this other stuff you're looking for--
it ain't there.
Work is work.
First printed in "Witness," Volume 10, Number 2, and reprinted by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 1996 by Jan Beatty, whose latest book, "Boneshaker," was published by the University of Pittsburgh Press in 2002.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Kooser's Column--71
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
William Carlos Williams, one of our country's most influential poets and a New Jersey physician, taught us to celebrate daily life. Here Albert Garcia offers us the simple pleasures and modest mysteries of a single summer day.
August Morning
It's ripe, the melon
by our sink. Yellow,
bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes
the house too sweetly.
At five I wake, the air
mournful in its quiet.
My wife's eyes swim calmly
under their lids, her mouth and jaw
relaxed, different.
What is happening in the silence
of this house? Curtains
hang heavily from their rods.
Ficus leaves tremble
at my footsteps. Yet
the colors outside are perfect--
orange geranium, blue lobelia.
I wander from room to room
like a man in a museum:
wife, children, books, flowers,
melon. Such still air. Soon
the mid-morning breeze will float in
like tepid water, then hot.
How do I start this day,
I who am unsure
of how my life has happened
or how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?
Poem copyright (c) by Albert Garcia from his latest book "Skunk Talk" (Bear Starr Press, 2005) and originally published in "Poetry East," No. 44. Reprinted by permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
William Carlos Williams, one of our country's most influential poets and a New Jersey physician, taught us to celebrate daily life. Here Albert Garcia offers us the simple pleasures and modest mysteries of a single summer day.
August Morning
It's ripe, the melon
by our sink. Yellow,
bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes
the house too sweetly.
At five I wake, the air
mournful in its quiet.
My wife's eyes swim calmly
under their lids, her mouth and jaw
relaxed, different.
What is happening in the silence
of this house? Curtains
hang heavily from their rods.
Ficus leaves tremble
at my footsteps. Yet
the colors outside are perfect--
orange geranium, blue lobelia.
I wander from room to room
like a man in a museum:
wife, children, books, flowers,
melon. Such still air. Soon
the mid-morning breeze will float in
like tepid water, then hot.
How do I start this day,
I who am unsure
of how my life has happened
or how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?
Poem copyright (c) by Albert Garcia from his latest book "Skunk Talk" (Bear Starr Press, 2005) and originally published in "Poetry East," No. 44. Reprinted by permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Luv
I put together pictures from around flickr and this reads as a love story. I'm afraid it will appear too small on the blog. Click the hyperlink and look at my photos.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Kooser's Column #69
American Life in Poetry: Column 069
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
This marvelous poem by the California poet Marsha Truman Cooper perfectly captures the world of ironing, complete with its intimacy. At the end, doing a job to perfection, pressing the perfect edge, establishes a reassuring order to an otherwise mundane and slightly tawdry world.
Ironing After Midnight
Your mother called it
"doing the pressing,"
and you know now
how right she was.
There is something urgent here.
Not even the hiss
under each button
or the yellow business
ground in at the neck
can make one instant
of this work seem unimportant.
You've been taught
to turn the pocket corners
and pick out the dark lint
that collects there.
You're tempted to leave it,
but the old lessons
go deeper than habits.
Everyone else is asleep.
The odor of sweat rises
when you do
under the armpits,
the owner's particular smell
you can never quite wash out.
You'll stay up.
You'll have your way,
the final stroke
and sharpness
down the long sleeves,
a truly permanent edge.
Reprinted from "River Styx," No. 32, 1990, by permission of the author, whose most recent book is "Substantial Holdings," Pudding House Publications, 2002. Poem copyright (c) 1990 by Marsha Truman Cooper. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
This marvelous poem by the California poet Marsha Truman Cooper perfectly captures the world of ironing, complete with its intimacy. At the end, doing a job to perfection, pressing the perfect edge, establishes a reassuring order to an otherwise mundane and slightly tawdry world.
Ironing After Midnight
Your mother called it
"doing the pressing,"
and you know now
how right she was.
There is something urgent here.
Not even the hiss
under each button
or the yellow business
ground in at the neck
can make one instant
of this work seem unimportant.
You've been taught
to turn the pocket corners
and pick out the dark lint
that collects there.
You're tempted to leave it,
but the old lessons
go deeper than habits.
Everyone else is asleep.
The odor of sweat rises
when you do
under the armpits,
the owner's particular smell
you can never quite wash out.
You'll stay up.
You'll have your way,
the final stroke
and sharpness
down the long sleeves,
a truly permanent edge.
Reprinted from "River Styx," No. 32, 1990, by permission of the author, whose most recent book is "Substantial Holdings," Pudding House Publications, 2002. Poem copyright (c) 1990 by Marsha Truman Cooper. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Sing Out America
For over a decade our church has had a patriotic program on the Sunday night before July 4. Tonight in the heat the crowd was fair but the singing was grand.
Neighbors brought their dogs, other churches participated, and families sat on blankets. Most of the crowd was wearing red, white and blue. Memorable and melodic. It sounded as good as watermelon tastes in July.
Neighbors brought their dogs, other churches participated, and families sat on blankets. Most of the crowd was wearing red, white and blue. Memorable and melodic. It sounded as good as watermelon tastes in July.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Kooser's Column #65
American Life in Poetry: Column 065
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Visiting a familiar and once dear place after a long absence can knock the words right out of us, and in this poem, Keith Althaus of Massachusetts observes this happening to someone else. I like the way he suggests, at the end, that it may take days before that silence heals over.
Homecoming
We drove through the gates
into a maze of little roads,
with speed bumps now,
that circled a pavilion,
field house, and ran past
the playing fields and wound
their way up to the cluster
of wood and stone buildings
of the school you went to once.
The green was returning to
the trees and lawn, the lake
was still half-lidded with ice
and blind in the middle.
There was nobody around
except a few cars in front
of the administration. It must
have been spring break.
We left without ever getting out
of the car. You were quiet
that night, the next day,
the way after heavy rain
that the earth cannot absorb,
the water lies in pools
in unexpected places for days
until it disappears.
Reprinted from "Ladder of Hours: Poems 1969-2005," Ausable Press, Keene, N.Y., 2005, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2005 by Keith Althaus. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Visiting a familiar and once dear place after a long absence can knock the words right out of us, and in this poem, Keith Althaus of Massachusetts observes this happening to someone else. I like the way he suggests, at the end, that it may take days before that silence heals over.
Homecoming
We drove through the gates
into a maze of little roads,
with speed bumps now,
that circled a pavilion,
field house, and ran past
the playing fields and wound
their way up to the cluster
of wood and stone buildings
of the school you went to once.
The green was returning to
the trees and lawn, the lake
was still half-lidded with ice
and blind in the middle.
There was nobody around
except a few cars in front
of the administration. It must
have been spring break.
We left without ever getting out
of the car. You were quiet
that night, the next day,
the way after heavy rain
that the earth cannot absorb,
the water lies in pools
in unexpected places for days
until it disappears.
Reprinted from "Ladder of Hours: Poems 1969-2005," Ausable Press, Keene, N.Y., 2005, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2005 by Keith Althaus. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
The Trinity--Rock Paper Scissors
The Presbyterians are in town for a national convention. They are expanding their interpretation and the preaching points of the Trinity. "We are freed to speak faithfully and amply of the mystery of the Trinity," according to Tom Evans. Here are some of the renditions: "Rainbow of Promise, Ark of Salvation and Dove of Peace"
"Speaker, Word and Breath"
"Giver, Gift, and Giving"
"Lover, Beloved and Love that binds together Lover and Beloved"
"Rock, Cornerstone, and Temple"
So in response, this morning in our local paper, a clever fellow named Stauss suggested Rock, Paper, Scissors would be popular and catchy with kids. Tee Hee. Last week I went to a Jung lecture and I'm sure they would recommend a female part to the Trinity.
Does the new Trinity nomenclature helps us illuminate God or put him in the shade? I'm sure God doesn't care as long as we are speaking truthfully of our heart's insights.
"Speaker, Word and Breath"
"Giver, Gift, and Giving"
"Lover, Beloved and Love that binds together Lover and Beloved"
"Rock, Cornerstone, and Temple"
So in response, this morning in our local paper, a clever fellow named Stauss suggested Rock, Paper, Scissors would be popular and catchy with kids. Tee Hee. Last week I went to a Jung lecture and I'm sure they would recommend a female part to the Trinity.
Does the new Trinity nomenclature helps us illuminate God or put him in the shade? I'm sure God doesn't care as long as we are speaking truthfully of our heart's insights.
Kooser's Column #64
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Storytelling binds the past and present together, and is as essential to community life as are food and shelter. Many of our poets are masters at reshaping family stories as poetry. Here Lola Haskins retells a haunting tale, cast in the voice of an elder. Like the best stories, there are no inessential details. Every word counts toward the effect.
Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country
That year there were many deaths in the village.
Germs flew like angels from one house to the next
and every family gave up its own. Mothers
died at their mending. Children fell at school.
Of three hundred twenty, there were eleven left.
Then, quietly, the sun set on a day when no one
died. And the angels whispered among themselves.
And that evening, as he sat on the stone steps,
your grandfather felt a small wind on his neck
when all the trees were still. And he would tell us
always, how he had felt that night, on the skin
of his own neck, the angels, passing.
Reprinted from "Desire Lines: New and Selected Poems," BOA Editions, 2004, by permission of the author and the publisher. Copyright (c) 2004 by Lola Haskins. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Storytelling binds the past and present together, and is as essential to community life as are food and shelter. Many of our poets are masters at reshaping family stories as poetry. Here Lola Haskins retells a haunting tale, cast in the voice of an elder. Like the best stories, there are no inessential details. Every word counts toward the effect.
Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country
That year there were many deaths in the village.
Germs flew like angels from one house to the next
and every family gave up its own. Mothers
died at their mending. Children fell at school.
Of three hundred twenty, there were eleven left.
Then, quietly, the sun set on a day when no one
died. And the angels whispered among themselves.
And that evening, as he sat on the stone steps,
your grandfather felt a small wind on his neck
when all the trees were still. And he would tell us
always, how he had felt that night, on the skin
of his own neck, the angels, passing.
Reprinted from "Desire Lines: New and Selected Poems," BOA Editions, 2004, by permission of the author and the publisher. Copyright (c) 2004 by Lola Haskins. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Kooser's Column #63
American Life in Poetry: Column 063
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Remember those Degas paintings of the ballet dancers? Here is a similar figure study, in muted color, but in this instance made of words, not pigment. As this poem by David Tucker closes, I can feel myself holding my breath as if to help the dancer hold her position.
The Dancer
Class is over, the teacher
and the pianist gone,
but one dancer
in a pale blue
leotard stays
to practice alone without music,
turning grand jetes
through the haze of late afternoon.
Her eyes are focused
on the balancing point
no one else sees
as she spins in this quiet
made of mirrors and light--
a blue rose on a nail--
then stops and lifts
her arms in an oval pause
and leans out
a little more, a little more,
there, in slow motion
upon the air.
Reprinted from the 2005 Bakeless Prize winner "Late for Work", by David Tucker, Houghton Mifflin, 2006, by permission of the author. "The Dancer" first appeared in "Visions International", No. 65, 2001. Copyright (c) 2001 by David Tucker. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
Remember those Degas paintings of the ballet dancers? Here is a similar figure study, in muted color, but in this instance made of words, not pigment. As this poem by David Tucker closes, I can feel myself holding my breath as if to help the dancer hold her position.
The Dancer
Class is over, the teacher
and the pianist gone,
but one dancer
in a pale blue
leotard stays
to practice alone without music,
turning grand jetes
through the haze of late afternoon.
Her eyes are focused
on the balancing point
no one else sees
as she spins in this quiet
made of mirrors and light--
a blue rose on a nail--
then stops and lifts
her arms in an oval pause
and leans out
a little more, a little more,
there, in slow motion
upon the air.
Reprinted from the 2005 Bakeless Prize winner "Late for Work", by David Tucker, Houghton Mifflin, 2006, by permission of the author. "The Dancer" first appeared in "Visions International", No. 65, 2001. Copyright (c) 2001 by David Tucker. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
What a great setting
I imagined romantic days in San Antonio when Jen and Dimitri were in school as they strolled the river walk.
I was glad I went and the festivities were uniquely personalized with Pickles the pet strolling the aisle with the ring; with friends reading literary selections; with a delicious meal and fabulous cake for dessert. The group from Birmingham loved the photos from childhood as many danced to the DJ.
It was THE DAY of June 2006 to remember!
I was glad I went and the festivities were uniquely personalized with Pickles the pet strolling the aisle with the ring; with friends reading literary selections; with a delicious meal and fabulous cake for dessert. The group from Birmingham loved the photos from childhood as many danced to the DJ.
It was THE DAY of June 2006 to remember!
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Wedding Bells on June 3
Jennifer and Dimitri are linking for life in SanAntonio on Saturday night.
With best wishes and great expectations family and friends are gathering for the celebration. I'm taking my love and support from Birmingham!
With best wishes and great expectations family and friends are gathering for the celebration. I'm taking my love and support from Birmingham!
Kooser's Column #62
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE 2004-2006
Gardeners who've fought Creeping Charlie and other unwanted plants may sympathize with James McKean from Iowa as he takes on Bindweed, a cousin to the two varieties of morning glory that appear in the poem. It's an endless struggle, and in the end, of course, the bindweed wins.
Bindweed
There is little I can do
besides stoop to pluck them
one by one from the ground,
their roots all weak links,
this hoard of Lazaruses popping up
at night, not the Heavenly Blue
so like silk handkerchiefs,
nor the Giant White so timid
in the face of the moon,
but poor relations who visit
then stay. They sleep in my garden.
Each morning I evict them.
Each night more arrive, their leaves
small, green shrouds,
reminding me the mother root
waits deep underground
and I dig but will never find her
and her children will inherit
all that I've cleared
when she holds me tighter
and tighter in her arms.
Reprinted from "Headlong," University of Utah Press, 1987, by permission of the author, and first published in "Poetry Northwest," Vol. 23, No. 3, 1982. Copyright (c) 1982 by James McKean, whose most recent book is "Home Stand," a memoir published in 2005 by Michigan State University Press. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Gardeners who've fought Creeping Charlie and other unwanted plants may sympathize with James McKean from Iowa as he takes on Bindweed, a cousin to the two varieties of morning glory that appear in the poem. It's an endless struggle, and in the end, of course, the bindweed wins.
Bindweed
There is little I can do
besides stoop to pluck them
one by one from the ground,
their roots all weak links,
this hoard of Lazaruses popping up
at night, not the Heavenly Blue
so like silk handkerchiefs,
nor the Giant White so timid
in the face of the moon,
but poor relations who visit
then stay. They sleep in my garden.
Each morning I evict them.
Each night more arrive, their leaves
small, green shrouds,
reminding me the mother root
waits deep underground
and I dig but will never find her
and her children will inherit
all that I've cleared
when she holds me tighter
and tighter in her arms.
Reprinted from "Headlong," University of Utah Press, 1987, by permission of the author, and first published in "Poetry Northwest," Vol. 23, No. 3, 1982. Copyright (c) 1982 by James McKean, whose most recent book is "Home Stand," a memoir published in 2005 by Michigan State University Press. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Kooser's Column #61
American Life in Poetry: BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Everywhere I travel I meet people who want to write poetry but worry that what they write won't be "any good." No one can judge the worth of a poem before it's been written, and setting high standards for yourself can keep you from writing. And if you don't write you'll miss out on the pleasure of making something from words, of seeing your thoughts on a page. Here Leslie Monsour offers a concise snapshot of a self-censoring poet.
The Education of a Poet
Her pencil poised, she's ready to create,
Then listens to her mind's perverse debate
On whether what she does serves any use;
And that is all she needs for an excuse
To spend all afternoon and half the night
Enjoying poems other people write.
Leslie Monsour's newest book of poetry is "The Alarming Beauty of the Sky" (2005) published by Red Hen Press. Poem copyright (c) 2000 by Leslie Monsour and reprinted from "The Formalist," Vol. 11, by permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Everywhere I travel I meet people who want to write poetry but worry that what they write won't be "any good." No one can judge the worth of a poem before it's been written, and setting high standards for yourself can keep you from writing. And if you don't write you'll miss out on the pleasure of making something from words, of seeing your thoughts on a page. Here Leslie Monsour offers a concise snapshot of a self-censoring poet.
The Education of a Poet
Her pencil poised, she's ready to create,
Then listens to her mind's perverse debate
On whether what she does serves any use;
And that is all she needs for an excuse
To spend all afternoon and half the night
Enjoying poems other people write.
Leslie Monsour's newest book of poetry is "The Alarming Beauty of the Sky" (2005) published by Red Hen Press. Poem copyright (c) 2000 by Leslie Monsour and reprinted from "The Formalist," Vol. 11, by permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Kooser's Column #60
American Life in Poetry
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Most of us have taken at least a moment or two to reflect upon what we have learned from our mothers. Through a catalog of meaningful actions that range from spiritual to domestic, Pennsylvanian Julia Kasdorf evokes the imprint of her mother's life on her own. As the poem closes, the speaker invites us to learn these actions of compassion.
What I Learned From My Mother
I learned from my mother how to love
the living, to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants
still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole
grieving household, to cube home-canned pears
and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.
I learned to attend viewing even if I didn't know
the deceased, to press the moist hands
of the living, to look in their eyes and offer
sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.
I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor, I learned to create
from another's suffering my own usefulness, and once
you know how to do this, you can never refuse.
To every house you enter, you must offer
healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.
Reprinted from "Sleeping Preacher," University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992, by permission of the publisher.
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Most of us have taken at least a moment or two to reflect upon what we have learned from our mothers. Through a catalog of meaningful actions that range from spiritual to domestic, Pennsylvanian Julia Kasdorf evokes the imprint of her mother's life on her own. As the poem closes, the speaker invites us to learn these actions of compassion.
What I Learned From My Mother
I learned from my mother how to love
the living, to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants
still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole
grieving household, to cube home-canned pears
and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.
I learned to attend viewing even if I didn't know
the deceased, to press the moist hands
of the living, to look in their eyes and offer
sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.
I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor, I learned to create
from another's suffering my own usefulness, and once
you know how to do this, you can never refuse.
To every house you enter, you must offer
healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.
Reprinted from "Sleeping Preacher," University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992, by permission of the publisher.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Kooser's Column #59
American Life in Poetry: Column 059 BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Contrary to the glamorized accounts we often read about the lives of single women, Amy Fleury, a native of Kansas, presents us with a realistic, affirmative picture. Her poem playfully presents her life as serendipitous, yet she doesn't shy away from acknowledging loneliness.
At Twenty-Eight
It seems I get by on more luck than sense,
not the kind brought on by knuckle to wood,
breath on dice, or pennies found in the mud.
I shimmy and slip by on pure fool chance.
At turns charmed and cursed, a girl knows romance
as coffee, red wine, and books; solitude
she counts as daylight virtue and muted
evenings, the inventory of absence.
But this is no sorry spinster story,
just the way days string together a life.
Sometimes I eat soup right out of the pan.
Sometimes I don't care if I will marry.
I dance in my kitchen on Friday nights,
singing like only a lucky girl can.
"At Twenty-Eight" by Amy Fleury is reprinted from "Beautiful Trouble," Southern Illinois University Press, 2004, by permission of the author. The poem was originally published in Southern Poetry Review, Volume 41:2, Fall/Winter 2002. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
Contrary to the glamorized accounts we often read about the lives of single women, Amy Fleury, a native of Kansas, presents us with a realistic, affirmative picture. Her poem playfully presents her life as serendipitous, yet she doesn't shy away from acknowledging loneliness.
At Twenty-Eight
It seems I get by on more luck than sense,
not the kind brought on by knuckle to wood,
breath on dice, or pennies found in the mud.
I shimmy and slip by on pure fool chance.
At turns charmed and cursed, a girl knows romance
as coffee, red wine, and books; solitude
she counts as daylight virtue and muted
evenings, the inventory of absence.
But this is no sorry spinster story,
just the way days string together a life.
Sometimes I eat soup right out of the pan.
Sometimes I don't care if I will marry.
I dance in my kitchen on Friday nights,
singing like only a lucky girl can.
"At Twenty-Eight" by Amy Fleury is reprinted from "Beautiful Trouble," Southern Illinois University Press, 2004, by permission of the author. The poem was originally published in Southern Poetry Review, Volume 41:2, Fall/Winter 2002. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
God will make a way--A few bars from choir practice
Audioblogger.com doesn't work with Blogger anymore.
I'll try again with Utterz
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Kooser's Column #58
Poem chosen BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
A worm in an apple, a maggot in a bone, a person in the world. What might seem an odd assortment of creatures is beautifully interrelated by the Massachusetts poet Pat Schneider. Her poem suggests that each living thing is richly awake to its own particular, limited world.
There Is Another Way
There is another way to enter an apple:
a worm's way.
The small, round door
closes behind her. The world
and all its necessities
ripen around her like a room.
In the sweet marrow of a bone,
the maggot does not remember
the wingspread
of the mother, the green
shine of her body, nor even
the last breath of the dying deer.
I, too, have forgotten
how I came here, breathing
this sweet wind, drinking rain,
encased by the limits
of what I can imagine
and by a husk of stars.
Reprinted from "Another River: New and Selected Poems," Amherst Writers & Artists Press, 2005, by permission of the author. First printed in "Kalliope", Vol. XII, No. 1, 1989. Copyright (c) 2004 by Pat Schneider. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. American Life in Poetry provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column featuring contemporary American poems.
A worm in an apple, a maggot in a bone, a person in the world. What might seem an odd assortment of creatures is beautifully interrelated by the Massachusetts poet Pat Schneider. Her poem suggests that each living thing is richly awake to its own particular, limited world.
There Is Another Way
There is another way to enter an apple:
a worm's way.
The small, round door
closes behind her. The world
and all its necessities
ripen around her like a room.
In the sweet marrow of a bone,
the maggot does not remember
the wingspread
of the mother, the green
shine of her body, nor even
the last breath of the dying deer.
I, too, have forgotten
how I came here, breathing
this sweet wind, drinking rain,
encased by the limits
of what I can imagine
and by a husk of stars.
Reprinted from "Another River: New and Selected Poems," Amherst Writers & Artists Press, 2005, by permission of the author. First printed in "Kalliope", Vol. XII, No. 1, 1989. Copyright (c) 2004 by Pat Schneider. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. American Life in Poetry provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column featuring contemporary American poems.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Dad will be inducted into AL Healthcare Hall of Fame
Birmingham Business Journal - 11:45 AM CDT Tuesday, May 2, 2006
In recognition of his outstanding contributions and exemplary service to health care statewide, Baptist Health System's president emeritus and former CEO, Emmett Johnson, will be inducted into the Alabama Healthcare Hall of Fame June 3.
Johnson served the health-care community for over four decades.
Wayne Pate, chairman of the system's board of trustees, credits Johnson's leadership as president and CEO from 1974 until 1994 for propelling Baptist to prominence.
"... Emmett's strong leadership and keen understanding of health care helped lay the foundation for Baptist Health System to become one of Alabama's leading health-care systems," Pate said in a written statement.
"As a member of the board during Emmett's tenure, I witnessed first hand his integrity, his dedication and his genuine concern for people, especially our patients," he stated.
During Johnson's 20-year tenure, Baptist Health System performed Alabama's first balloon angioplasty, created the state's first bone marrow transplant care unit and established Alabama's first accredited hospice program.
More importantly, Pate said, Johnson used his "considerable talents" to expand Alabama's presence among a variety of national health-care organizations.
Specifically, Johnson served as president of the Baptist Hospital Association, chairman of the board of the American Protestant Hospital Association and held various leadership roles with the American Hospital Association, including chairman of its Health Care Systems division. He is also recognized for his role as a founding member of the Voluntary Hospitals of America and its Alabama chapter.
I AM VERY PROUD OF HIM. HE SHOWED ME HOW TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD.
In recognition of his outstanding contributions and exemplary service to health care statewide, Baptist Health System's president emeritus and former CEO, Emmett Johnson, will be inducted into the Alabama Healthcare Hall of Fame June 3.
Johnson served the health-care community for over four decades.
Wayne Pate, chairman of the system's board of trustees, credits Johnson's leadership as president and CEO from 1974 until 1994 for propelling Baptist to prominence.
"... Emmett's strong leadership and keen understanding of health care helped lay the foundation for Baptist Health System to become one of Alabama's leading health-care systems," Pate said in a written statement.
"As a member of the board during Emmett's tenure, I witnessed first hand his integrity, his dedication and his genuine concern for people, especially our patients," he stated.
During Johnson's 20-year tenure, Baptist Health System performed Alabama's first balloon angioplasty, created the state's first bone marrow transplant care unit and established Alabama's first accredited hospice program.
More importantly, Pate said, Johnson used his "considerable talents" to expand Alabama's presence among a variety of national health-care organizations.
Specifically, Johnson served as president of the Baptist Hospital Association, chairman of the board of the American Protestant Hospital Association and held various leadership roles with the American Hospital Association, including chairman of its Health Care Systems division. He is also recognized for his role as a founding member of the Voluntary Hospitals of America and its Alabama chapter.
I AM VERY PROUD OF HIM. HE SHOWED ME HOW TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Restrictions
I am anti-restriction--now in the prime of my life. 54 and wanting more! That's who I am. What a funny sign and i hope I'm not guilty of restraining any one's fun, game, interest or adventure. I find this sign VERY restrictive! Click the title for more funny signs!
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Thursday, April 27, 2006
Solve the puzzle
Click the entry post's title for a web site where you manipulate a moving parachute. Move the pieces and you will reveal a video puzzle. Just click and drag pieces into place in the grey area.
Kooser's Column #57
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Midwestern poet Richard Newman traces the imaginary life of coins as a connection between people. The coins--seemingly of little value--become a ceremonial and communal currency.
Coins
My change: a nickel caked with finger grime;
two nicked quarters not long for this life, worth
more for keeping dead eyes shut than bus fare;
a dime, shining in sunshine like a new dime;
grubby pennies, one stamped the year of my birth,
no brighter than I from 40 years of wear.
What purses, piggy banks, and window sills
have these coins known, their presidential heads
pinched into what beggar's chalky palm--
they circulate like tarnished red blood cells,
all of us exchanging the merest film
of our lives, and the lives of those long dead.
And now my turn in the convenience store,
I hand over my fist of change, still warm,
to the bored, lip-pierced check-out girl, once more
to be spun down cigarette machines, hurled
in fountains, flipped for luck--these dirty charms
chiming in the dark pockets of the world.
Reprinted from "Borrowed Towns," World Press, 2005, by permission of the author. First printed in "Crab Orchard Review," Volume 10, No. 1, 2005. Copyright (c) 2005 by Richard Newman. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Midwestern poet Richard Newman traces the imaginary life of coins as a connection between people. The coins--seemingly of little value--become a ceremonial and communal currency.
Coins
My change: a nickel caked with finger grime;
two nicked quarters not long for this life, worth
more for keeping dead eyes shut than bus fare;
a dime, shining in sunshine like a new dime;
grubby pennies, one stamped the year of my birth,
no brighter than I from 40 years of wear.
What purses, piggy banks, and window sills
have these coins known, their presidential heads
pinched into what beggar's chalky palm--
they circulate like tarnished red blood cells,
all of us exchanging the merest film
of our lives, and the lives of those long dead.
And now my turn in the convenience store,
I hand over my fist of change, still warm,
to the bored, lip-pierced check-out girl, once more
to be spun down cigarette machines, hurled
in fountains, flipped for luck--these dirty charms
chiming in the dark pockets of the world.
Reprinted from "Borrowed Towns," World Press, 2005, by permission of the author. First printed in "Crab Orchard Review," Volume 10, No. 1, 2005. Copyright (c) 2005 by Richard Newman. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Monday, April 24, 2006
American Life in Poetry: Kooser's Column 056
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
When I complained about some of the tedious jobs I had as a boy, my mother would tell me, Ted, all work is honorable. In this poem, Don Welch gives us a man who's been fixing barbed wire fences all his life.
At the Edge of Town
Hard to know which is more gnarled,
the posts he hammers staples into
or the blue hummocks which run
across his hands like molehills.
Work has reduced his wrists
to bones, cut out of him
the easy flesh and brought him
down to this, the crowbar's teeth
caught just behind a barb.
Again this morning
the crowbar's neck will make
its blue slip into wood,
there will be that moment
when too much strength
will cause the wire to break.
But even at 70, he says,
he has to have it right,
and more than right.
This morning, in the pewter light,
he has the scars to prove it.
From "Gutter Flowers," Logan House, 2005. Copyright (c) 2005 by Don Welch and reprinted by permission of Logan House and the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. American Life in Poetry provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column featuring contemporary American poems. The sole mission of this project is to promote poetry: American Life in Poetry seeks to create a vigorous presence for poetry in our culture. There are no costs for reprinting the columns; we do require that you register your publication here and that the text of the column be reproduced without alteration.
When I complained about some of the tedious jobs I had as a boy, my mother would tell me, Ted, all work is honorable. In this poem, Don Welch gives us a man who's been fixing barbed wire fences all his life.
At the Edge of Town
Hard to know which is more gnarled,
the posts he hammers staples into
or the blue hummocks which run
across his hands like molehills.
Work has reduced his wrists
to bones, cut out of him
the easy flesh and brought him
down to this, the crowbar's teeth
caught just behind a barb.
Again this morning
the crowbar's neck will make
its blue slip into wood,
there will be that moment
when too much strength
will cause the wire to break.
But even at 70, he says,
he has to have it right,
and more than right.
This morning, in the pewter light,
he has the scars to prove it.
From "Gutter Flowers," Logan House, 2005. Copyright (c) 2005 by Don Welch and reprinted by permission of Logan House and the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. American Life in Poetry provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column featuring contemporary American poems. The sole mission of this project is to promote poetry: American Life in Poetry seeks to create a vigorous presence for poetry in our culture. There are no costs for reprinting the columns; we do require that you register your publication here and that the text of the column be reproduced without alteration.
Seen on Easter Morning
Think about the state of religion without Easter. We'd be praying through a class of priests, leaving fruit to our grandparents' memory, or perhaps petitioning an ancient tree. The ancestors of Jesus offered doves, goats or lambs as blood exchange for sin. The High Priest could enter the holy of holy place in the temple only once a year. And he had a rope attached so his colleagues could pull him out in case he fell dead in the presence of God.
Now, we have such free access to the Creator and Sustainer of life! What a difference a couple of thousand years make! Thank you Jesus.
Now, we have such free access to the Creator and Sustainer of life! What a difference a couple of thousand years make! Thank you Jesus.
Flags in UAB's student center
Last weekend the fourth graders at the Young Authors' Conference were in the Student Center to hear Jan Spivey Gilchrist, favored illustrator for Eloise Greenfield. The Conference was wonderful! Click the title for a link.
My Watercolor
Week before last in class I painted this from a picture of a painting. Last week in class we went to Lisa's house, which is on 100 acres in Calera [see link]. And, she has made lakes and moved boulders. She is Wonder Woman and her garden is proof of the reward of consistent work!
Wow! I was inspired to enjoy my yard by investing time. Instead of painting last Thursday we walked around her property before digging up some young plants. We all came home with starts. I'm happy to report mine are in the ground!
Wow! I was inspired to enjoy my yard by investing time. Instead of painting last Thursday we walked around her property before digging up some young plants. We all came home with starts. I'm happy to report mine are in the ground!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Koosers' Column #55
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
A circus is an assemblage of illusions, and here Jo McDougall, a Kansas poet, shows us a couple of performers, drab and weary in their ordinary lives, away from the lights at the center of the ring.
What We Need
It is just as well we do not see,
in the shadows behind the hasty tent
of the Allen Brothers Greatest Show,
Lola the Lion Tamer and the Great Valdini
in Nikes and jeans
sharing a tired cigarette
before she girds her wrists with glistening amulets
and snaps the tigers into rage,
before he adjusts the glimmering cummerbund
and makes from air
the white and trembling doves, the pair.
From "Dirt," Autumn House Press, Pittsburgh, 2001. Copyright (c) 2001 by Jo McDougall, whose most recent book is "Satisfied With Havoc," Autumn House Press, 2004. Reprinted by permission.
Monday, April 10, 2006
A personal moment with President Carter
President Carter is so obliging. He allows folks to be photographed with him after he teaches SS and attends worship at Maranatha Church in Plains, GA. Here he stands with Janice's mom. He is a man who has integrated heart and mind to act on cares of his life!His lesson included the idea that we as Christians are little Christs, and that's what "Christ like" means. He challenged the group to not take the nomenclature "Christian" so lightly.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
MandarinaMania
American Life in Poetry: Kooser's Column 054
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Poet Ruth L. Schwartz writes of the glimpse of possibility, of something sweeter than we already have that comes to us, grows in us. The unrealizable part of it causes bitterness; the other opens outward, the cycle complete. This is both a poem about a tangerine and about more than that.
Tangerine
It was a flower once, it was one of a billion flowers
whose perfume broke through closed car windows,
forced a blessing on their drivers.
Then what stayed behind grew swollen, as we do;
grew juice instead of tears, and small hard sour seeds,
each one bitter, as we are, and filled with possibility.
Now a hole opens up in its skin, where it was torn from the
branch; ripeness can't stop itself, breathes out;
we can't stop it either. We breathe in.
From "Dear Good Naked Morning," (c) 2005 by Ruth L. Schwartz. Reprinted by permission of the author and Autumn House Press. First printed in "Crab Orchard Review," Vol. 8, No. 2. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Poet Ruth L. Schwartz writes of the glimpse of possibility, of something sweeter than we already have that comes to us, grows in us. The unrealizable part of it causes bitterness; the other opens outward, the cycle complete. This is both a poem about a tangerine and about more than that.
Tangerine
It was a flower once, it was one of a billion flowers
whose perfume broke through closed car windows,
forced a blessing on their drivers.
Then what stayed behind grew swollen, as we do;
grew juice instead of tears, and small hard sour seeds,
each one bitter, as we are, and filled with possibility.
Now a hole opens up in its skin, where it was torn from the
branch; ripeness can't stop itself, breathes out;
we can't stop it either. We breathe in.
From "Dear Good Naked Morning," (c) 2005 by Ruth L. Schwartz. Reprinted by permission of the author and Autumn House Press. First printed in "Crab Orchard Review," Vol. 8, No. 2. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Retirement gives you time to reflect
Your point of view affects time. My brother has been saying to me, "So how is life when every day except Sunday is Saturday?"
To tell you the truth, retirement is flexibility. Do I get more done? Not really... I am trying to nurture my creative side and I love dabbling especially with Yahoo's "flickr". It is such a glorious community of photographers from around the globe. People comment on each other's shots, but mostly I just bask in the realm of other people's point of view. The sun is always the sun, but there are phenomenal sunsets that people capture.
The world of images as communication is fascinating. Before cameras I guess people wowed each other with speeches or verbal ideas. Now we WOW each other with scenes. I always want more time in front of the computer now in retirement.
Tip: click on the credit for this picture. The photographer is Brazilian and lives in Italy. But use his page to click the word EXPLORE. You can see some top choices from millions submitted in a day! Click EXPLORE about six times for different photos.
To tell you the truth, retirement is flexibility. Do I get more done? Not really... I am trying to nurture my creative side and I love dabbling especially with Yahoo's "flickr". It is such a glorious community of photographers from around the globe. People comment on each other's shots, but mostly I just bask in the realm of other people's point of view. The sun is always the sun, but there are phenomenal sunsets that people capture.
The world of images as communication is fascinating. Before cameras I guess people wowed each other with speeches or verbal ideas. Now we WOW each other with scenes. I always want more time in front of the computer now in retirement.
Tip: click on the credit for this picture. The photographer is Brazilian and lives in Italy. But use his page to click the word EXPLORE. You can see some top choices from millions submitted in a day! Click EXPLORE about six times for different photos.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Would you give CPR to your dog?
Last night I first heard of the nurse who was visiting her brother and gave CPR to a chicken. Boo-Boo is pictured. Click the title above for the story about bringing Boo-Boo back to life.
Well, that got me thinking about whether I would give CPR to my dog! At Pet's First's web site it tells you how to do it. - if there is no heartbeat or pulse for medium to large dogs (30-90 lbs) you do the following:
1. Stand or kneel with animal's back toward you (animal laying on *right* side).
2. Extend arms at the elbows.
3. Cup hands over each other.
4. Compress the chest at the point where the animal's left elbow lies when pulled back to the chest.
5. Compress so the chest moves about 1- 3 inches with each compression.
6. If working alone, do 5 compressions for each breath, then check for a pulse.
7. If there are two people, one person does the breathing while the other performs the compressions at a rate of 2 or 3 compressions for each breath, check for pulse.
But would I do it? I pay $1.50 a day for medicatons for him, which is more than what I spend on meds for me. He's a high maintenance item right now. Once I thought Americans were uncaring to spend so much on their animals when there are hungry people in the world. Then I found JT and we adopted each other. It's wonderful sharing a house with something that breathes! And with the years that pass I think he thinks I'm sharing it with him instead of my sharing it with him! Since I can't stand to see him struggle with arthritis, I buy his pills. But if he died --if his heart stopped, I'd just let him go. And it's not because he has bad doggy breath---It's just that when it's time, it's time. I am in awe that people bring the animals back. It seems unnatural. Besides, if I die, I want to be let go too.
Monday, April 03, 2006
China in AL
This is not an April Fools joke. I went to China this weekend. I was invited by Cathy Kilpatrick, the blonde in the picture, who has been going for years to Shocco Springs for the weekend of the Chinese Christian Assembly. The dining room was filled to overflowing because anywhere from 550 to 650 people were there for meals. People from TN, GA, the Carolinas, and all over AL had driven in. Everything was in Chinese: programs, signs, and dinner conversations. Cathy and I had the 2nd graders for 4 sessions: Fri night, Sat morn, Sat night and then Sun morning. We taught VBS material about people of the Bible whose hearts were changed-- to smart and compliant kids, most of whom had heard the stories before. Our biggest session was for 18 kids... One little one said we had more to do and our Bible verses were harder [longer?], but at his church he had homework.
Cathy's former church, Shades Mtn Baptist takes the lead with the man power and the materials. The common supply room was fabulous. I know Cathy from Tues nights at Dawson where we both teach Conversational Eng.
We heard news that after the worship service on Friday night, when people adjourned to discussion groups, from the Shades group of 50 folks, three adults prayed to become Christians. So imagine how it was cumulatively for the whole weekend for all the camp's groups! In years past they've recorded 70 to 100 professions of faith... It was a wonderful weekend: perfect weather, good friendship forged, kid friendly interaction, and beautiful outdoor scenes.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Frustration with Pansies
I have been trying to paint pansies and they are really hard for me to capture. (I've torn up three water colors so far.) I found a macro photo on Flickr from Portugal which is inspiring me to paint an abstract of the center and be done. Note my rendition of his photo--done as an Amazing Circle with PhotoShop. (Click the title to see the orginal.)
Thursday, March 30, 2006
American Life in Poetry: Kooser's Column 053
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Writing poetry, reading poetry, we are invited to join with others in celebrating life, even the ordinary, daily pleasures. Here the Seattle poet and physician, Peter Pereira, offer us a simple meal.
A Pot of Red Lentils
simmers on the kitchen stove.
All afternoon dense kernels
surrender to the fertile
juices, their tender bellies
swelling with delight.
In the yard we plant
rhubarb, cauliflower, and artichokes,
cupping wet earth over tubers,
our labor the germ
of later sustenance and renewal.
Across the field the sound of a baby crying
as we carry in the last carrots,
whorls of butter lettuce,
a basket of red potatoes.
I want to remember us this way--
late September sun streaming through
the window, bread loaves and golden
bunches of grapes on the table,
spoonfuls of hot soup rising
to our lips, filling us
with what endures.
Reprinted from "Saying the World," 2003, by permission of Copper Canyon Press. Copyright (c) 2003 by Peter Pereira. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Writing poetry, reading poetry, we are invited to join with others in celebrating life, even the ordinary, daily pleasures. Here the Seattle poet and physician, Peter Pereira, offer us a simple meal.
A Pot of Red Lentils
simmers on the kitchen stove.
All afternoon dense kernels
surrender to the fertile
juices, their tender bellies
swelling with delight.
In the yard we plant
rhubarb, cauliflower, and artichokes,
cupping wet earth over tubers,
our labor the germ
of later sustenance and renewal.
Across the field the sound of a baby crying
as we carry in the last carrots,
whorls of butter lettuce,
a basket of red potatoes.
I want to remember us this way--
late September sun streaming through
the window, bread loaves and golden
bunches of grapes on the table,
spoonfuls of hot soup rising
to our lips, filling us
with what endures.
Reprinted from "Saying the World," 2003, by permission of Copper Canyon Press. Copyright (c) 2003 by Peter Pereira. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Readying for Flight!=Photo + Kooser's Column
American Life in Poetry: Column 051
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Walt Whitman's poems took in the world through a wide-angle lens, including nearly everything, but most later poets have focused much more narrowly. Here the poet and novelist Jim Harrison nods to Whitman with a sweeping, inclusive poem about the course of life.
Marching
At dawn I heard among bird calls
the billions of marching feet in the churn
and squeak of gravel, even tiny feet
still wet from the mother's amniotic fluid,
and very old halting feet, the feet
of the very light and very heavy, all marching
but not together, criss-crossing at every angle
with sincere attempts not to touch, not to bump
into each other, walking in the doors of houses
and out the back door forty years later, finally
knowing that time collapses on a single
plateau where they were all their lives,
knowing that time stops when the heart stops
as they walk off the earth into the night air.
"Marching," from Jim Harrison's "Saving Daylight" (2006) is reprinted by permission of Copper Cayon Press. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Walt Whitman's poems took in the world through a wide-angle lens, including nearly everything, but most later poets have focused much more narrowly. Here the poet and novelist Jim Harrison nods to Whitman with a sweeping, inclusive poem about the course of life.
Marching
At dawn I heard among bird calls
the billions of marching feet in the churn
and squeak of gravel, even tiny feet
still wet from the mother's amniotic fluid,
and very old halting feet, the feet
of the very light and very heavy, all marching
but not together, criss-crossing at every angle
with sincere attempts not to touch, not to bump
into each other, walking in the doors of houses
and out the back door forty years later, finally
knowing that time collapses on a single
plateau where they were all their lives,
knowing that time stops when the heart stops
as they walk off the earth into the night air.
"Marching," from Jim Harrison's "Saving Daylight" (2006) is reprinted by permission of Copper Cayon Press. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Inside Man
Inside Man (clickable title) won me over. I actually want to go back, and I very seldom want to see a movie twice. The story is its strength and it's complicated. Keith Frazier, or Denzel's character, has depth and charm. The master mind of the heist has his own stoic charm and is certainly enigmatic. Some of the police officers seemed like they walked from their beat to the set.
What I found most interesting were not the plot or characterizations but the style of the directing and the interactions between characters. Several scenes are burned in my brain. One with a hand print, one with a shadow, and another with a syringe-- You'll see. There are at least three scenes between officers that would make great 1.5 minute movies. These could be played as conversation starters for discussions about race in America today. It's not just the exchange of words. It's the looks they gave. I love that kind of realistic silent conversation that takes place in a millisecond of pause.
I don't understand why Spike Lee used what I took to be Bollywood music (and perhaps some Arab sounding music?) through the opening and closing credits. I guess it saved money... I have to admit it made me jive in my seat a bit. I enjoyed the catchy tunes, even if they weren't in English. But did that have some kind of tie-in to the story? Was that a statement about where money is going? Or who is righting wrongs?
The theater in which I saw Inside Man was 95% filled. It was hard to get a seat. I came out of the theater listening to a comment that it was one of the best films seen in months and months. That was my feeling too. Spike Lee has a hit! I found it very entertaining.
What I found most interesting were not the plot or characterizations but the style of the directing and the interactions between characters. Several scenes are burned in my brain. One with a hand print, one with a shadow, and another with a syringe-- You'll see. There are at least three scenes between officers that would make great 1.5 minute movies. These could be played as conversation starters for discussions about race in America today. It's not just the exchange of words. It's the looks they gave. I love that kind of realistic silent conversation that takes place in a millisecond of pause.
I don't understand why Spike Lee used what I took to be Bollywood music (and perhaps some Arab sounding music?) through the opening and closing credits. I guess it saved money... I have to admit it made me jive in my seat a bit. I enjoyed the catchy tunes, even if they weren't in English. But did that have some kind of tie-in to the story? Was that a statement about where money is going? Or who is righting wrongs?
The theater in which I saw Inside Man was 95% filled. It was hard to get a seat. I came out of the theater listening to a comment that it was one of the best films seen in months and months. That was my feeling too. Spike Lee has a hit! I found it very entertaining.
Killing the zest for learning
Below I've picked out some key paragraphs from a feature in the NYTimes by Sam Dillon. (Click the title for source.) I whole heartedly agree that we're killing the kids' desire to learn. I think by segregating the kids who ARE BEHIND we are saying to them, "Catch up or else quit school." How can it be good for them?
+++++++
In one Sacramento middle school 17% of the students spend five of their six class periods on math, reading and gym, leaving only one 55-minute period for all other subjects.
The school's lowest-performing students are barred from taking anything except math, reading and gym. According to the school's principal, "When you look at a kid and you know he can't read, that's a tough call you've got to make."
The increasing focus on two basic subjects has divided the nation's educational establishment. Some authorities, including Secretary of Education Margaret Spellings, say the federal law's focus on basic skills is raising achievement in thousands of low-performing schools. Other experts warn that by reducing the academic menu to steak and potatoes, schools risk giving bored teenagers the message that school means repetition and drilling.
"Only two subjects? What a sadness," said Thomas Sobol, an education professor at Columbia Teachers College and a former New York State education commissioner. "That's like a violin student who's only permitted to play scales, nothing else, day after day, scales, scales, scales. They'd lose their zest for music."
+++++++
In one Sacramento middle school 17% of the students spend five of their six class periods on math, reading and gym, leaving only one 55-minute period for all other subjects.
The school's lowest-performing students are barred from taking anything except math, reading and gym. According to the school's principal, "When you look at a kid and you know he can't read, that's a tough call you've got to make."
The increasing focus on two basic subjects has divided the nation's educational establishment. Some authorities, including Secretary of Education Margaret Spellings, say the federal law's focus on basic skills is raising achievement in thousands of low-performing schools. Other experts warn that by reducing the academic menu to steak and potatoes, schools risk giving bored teenagers the message that school means repetition and drilling.
"Only two subjects? What a sadness," said Thomas Sobol, an education professor at Columbia Teachers College and a former New York State education commissioner. "That's like a violin student who's only permitted to play scales, nothing else, day after day, scales, scales, scales. They'd lose their zest for music."
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
GA wants Bible Study in School
I'm surprised it takes a state law to offer an elective in Bible Study in Georgia. You would think it would be a decision for a community's school system. Therefore I think it's mostly hype for the writers of the bill to get media play at election time. Therefore I am wary of the intent of the law. They claim today's children need civilizing and knowledge of the root of much our Southern literature.
From first hand experience I can speak of bible study in school. I took Old Testament as an elective in a TX high school over 30 years ago. It was taught in a secular manner, as a historical account. It was taught as an itenerary of Israel's journey, or that's what I got out of it. Then in Kenya I taught Old Testament to freshmen in highschool, and it was mandatory. Did the students get the message or remember the lists of treks through the wilderness? Hardly. Georgian legislators say bible study will be an elective course. So besides my theory that Georgia lawmakers want votes from Bible thumping constituents, I believe if you take the spiritual aspect out of The Book, you kill the story.
According to the GA lawmakers the Bible will be taught as literature, not as a spiritual book. I believe you can't separate the two and when you do, the Bible is extremely dry. I think teaching it as literature will turn off the students the legislators want to civilize and make literate about Western Civilization. European countries with state religions have been doing this for generations. What is the consequence of state mandated religious education? Have you been to churches in Europe? Only babies and grandmas attend. The cathedrals of several different denominations are mere cavernous hulks. If students learn bible stories and their hearts aren't touched, and if their teachers must consider their hearts untouchable, the students will walk away non-plussed. Then, these students will subconsciously assume they've studied the Bible. "Heard that, Learned that, Don't need Bible Study anymore". However, Bible Study in a spiritual setting is a completely different matter! Bible Study affects the mind, the heart, and one's life. That is, unless you suck the LIFE or SPIRIT out of the study by teaching the Bible as literature without a spiritual dimension.
If I were in the Georgia legislature I would vote against the bill pending now.
From first hand experience I can speak of bible study in school. I took Old Testament as an elective in a TX high school over 30 years ago. It was taught in a secular manner, as a historical account. It was taught as an itenerary of Israel's journey, or that's what I got out of it. Then in Kenya I taught Old Testament to freshmen in highschool, and it was mandatory. Did the students get the message or remember the lists of treks through the wilderness? Hardly. Georgian legislators say bible study will be an elective course. So besides my theory that Georgia lawmakers want votes from Bible thumping constituents, I believe if you take the spiritual aspect out of The Book, you kill the story.
According to the GA lawmakers the Bible will be taught as literature, not as a spiritual book. I believe you can't separate the two and when you do, the Bible is extremely dry. I think teaching it as literature will turn off the students the legislators want to civilize and make literate about Western Civilization. European countries with state religions have been doing this for generations. What is the consequence of state mandated religious education? Have you been to churches in Europe? Only babies and grandmas attend. The cathedrals of several different denominations are mere cavernous hulks. If students learn bible stories and their hearts aren't touched, and if their teachers must consider their hearts untouchable, the students will walk away non-plussed. Then, these students will subconsciously assume they've studied the Bible. "Heard that, Learned that, Don't need Bible Study anymore". However, Bible Study in a spiritual setting is a completely different matter! Bible Study affects the mind, the heart, and one's life. That is, unless you suck the LIFE or SPIRIT out of the study by teaching the Bible as literature without a spiritual dimension.
If I were in the Georgia legislature I would vote against the bill pending now.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Horta Kids 2
Great fun at the McWane Science Center today. I ran into Melanie and the kids! Plus Nana Janet was with them. The Science Center is THE place to be this Spring break. There are Segways to ride and a new virtual ride. I've been working in the newsroom. Wish you could drop by!
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Dana spoke at my church...
This AL girl has been on Oprah about losing over 100 pounds. Her story of weight loss is one of hard work sustained by God's Hope. She says to give yourself at least three months on a diet because it takes people awhile to notice and give a favorable comment.
I Cor. 6 19-20 God gave you His Holy Spirit. Now you belong to God. You do not belong to yourselves. God bought you with a great price. So honor God with your body. You belong to Him.
I Cor. 6 19-20 God gave you His Holy Spirit. Now you belong to God. You do not belong to yourselves. God bought you with a great price. So honor God with your body. You belong to Him.
Friday, March 17, 2006
East African drought -- Disaster for Millions
EAST Africa's Lake Victoria, the world's second largest freshwater lake, is being secretly drained to keep the lights on inUganda . A report published this week says Uganda is flouting a 50-year-old international agreement designed to protect the lake's waters.Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania . An estimated 30 million people depend on it for their livelihoods. Since 2003, however, the lake has lost 75 cubic kilometres of water, about 3 per cent of its volume, leaving international ferries stranded far from their jetties, fishing boats mired in mud, and towns running low on water.Uganda, where it forms the Victoria Nile. Until 1954, the lake emptied into the Nile over a natural rock weir, but that year British colonial engineers blasted out the weir and replaced it with the Owens Falls dam, now renamed the Nalubaale dam, which effectively transformed the lake into a giant hydroelectric reservoir.
"This dam complex is pulling the plug on Lake Victoria," says Frank Muramuzi ofUganda 's National Association of Professional Environmentalists.
Return to article
"This dam complex is pulling the plug on Lake Victoria," says Frank Muramuzi of
Return to article
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
What does your name mean?
Type your name in and find out how much it's been used this century and what it means.
Mine means "merry and Happy". If I changed it to GAGE it would mean "pawn". Now that's one good reason to leave it alone.
(Click the title)
Mine means "merry and Happy". If I changed it to GAGE it would mean "pawn". Now that's one good reason to leave it alone.
(Click the title)
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Friday, March 10, 2006
Love Shows
The title when clicked will take you to our movie, Love Shows.
We made it in 48 hours and used their requirements including a hocky puck.
We made it in 48 hours and used their requirements including a hocky puck.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Fun web site--Pet Cat
Move the mouse all around the cat. (Note: eyes, tail, feet) You can make him purr, meow, and reach for the mouse. He breathes and reaches for your cursor. Cool!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Scramble Reveals
Tonight is the Night
We watch the "world premiere" -tee hee- of Love Shows. 8 pm Carver Theater
Well, after watching -23- five minute films... audience tabulations were taken and we were third with the crowd, I heard. I think we had alot of friends in the audience.
Next time...
We watch the "world premiere" -tee hee- of Love Shows. 8 pm Carver Theater
Well, after watching -23- five minute films... audience tabulations were taken and we were third with the crowd, I heard. I think we had alot of friends in the audience.
Next time...
Friday, February 24, 2006
Monk e mail is a Riot!
Click the title and you can create your own monkey email. What fun! Choose the chimp's dress, setting, voice. Add glasses and wigs and something he has in his hand! You can call a certain # and record a message or just let the computer read your typed message for you. This is THE most clever electronic email ever!
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Springing up in Birmingham
I did a U turn and went back for this picture in someone's front yard today.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
"Love Shows"
Great creative fun was had by all! We made our movie in 48 hours! Success! We turned in our five minute movie on time! (Click the title for a link to Sidewalk Scramble.)
"Love Shows" was filmed in four rooms of the Datnow home, and with one scene at the Greystone Pharmacy.
We were the 10th team to turn in our film. Do you think the other 19 teams made it? All teams will view each other's endeavors when awards are given on March 3.
As prescribed we included the puck, the turning, the montage, and the romance. What a team I assembled, if I say so myself! Most are MAC lovers. Being one makes movie making easy... Thanks to the Datnows, Dottie, Bob, the Usdans, and Tommy--we did it! From sound track to script writing to editing to artistic flair, we had our bases covered.
"Love Shows" was filmed in four rooms of the Datnow home, and with one scene at the Greystone Pharmacy.
We were the 10th team to turn in our film. Do you think the other 19 teams made it? All teams will view each other's endeavors when awards are given on March 3.
As prescribed we included the puck, the turning, the montage, and the romance. What a team I assembled, if I say so myself! Most are MAC lovers. Being one makes movie making easy... Thanks to the Datnows, Dottie, Bob, the Usdans, and Tommy--we did it! From sound track to script writing to editing to artistic flair, we had our bases covered.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Moon on Valentines Morning
Taken from my deck as the sun rose behind me the moon was going down ahead of me. Birmingham is beautiful!
Monday, February 13, 2006
I wish that I had known . . .
You can explore other people's photos on Flickr and their shots are amazing. It's true--Be warned--it's addicting and I'm hooked.
Kind of like Sodoku, you stick with it until you just feel plain guilty for killing so much time.
Kind of like Sodoku, you stick with it until you just feel plain guilty for killing so much time.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Diane is Plumed
Most SG's vow to NEVER wear the hats in public which announce Red Hat membership! We celebrated the last time today by pluming Diane. Each of the group of nine has turned 50 within the last five years. Today's luncheon celebrating the January birthdays at Jane's house was delicious. CLICK THE BLOG TITLE for a link about the style of age acceptance.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
The Constant Gardener
I watched the Constant Gardener this evening. OH how sad. What a complicated movie... The plot was wonderfully woven with several characters' misunderstandings and misplaced paranoias. Then the reality was worse than the misgivings . (Those sentences reflect what the world knows and understands of Africa and how the world relates to her.)
It's a GREAT movie. I want to read the source material: John Le Carre's book, by the same title. A few lines reverberate from film dialogue about how Africa is everyone's source of guilt--especially companies and corporations who relegate it and use it. My take is that this is done in some modern world, imperialistic way. Not of governments but of economics. The protagonist's gardening habit is a perfect parallel for the world's care for Africa too. Gardening is about as mundane and everlasting as washing dishes. You can absorb yourself in cares within your domain or look out the kitchen window!
On second thought, and after reading an Amazon review of LeCarre's book by "earlrandy', I may read a book he suggests: "'The Billion Dollar Molecule' is a great work of non-fiction relating the trials and potential riches of drug developement. It makes for a nice bookend for "The Constant Gardener".
FYI (Click on the blog title to finish a short article about drug trials for HIV in Africa: "People in sub-Saharan Africa carry the heaviest burden of HIV and AIDS, yet very few trials have been conducted on the African continent over the past two decades...")
It's a GREAT movie. I want to read the source material: John Le Carre's book, by the same title. A few lines reverberate from film dialogue about how Africa is everyone's source of guilt--especially companies and corporations who relegate it and use it. My take is that this is done in some modern world, imperialistic way. Not of governments but of economics. The protagonist's gardening habit is a perfect parallel for the world's care for Africa too. Gardening is about as mundane and everlasting as washing dishes. You can absorb yourself in cares within your domain or look out the kitchen window!
On second thought, and after reading an Amazon review of LeCarre's book by "earlrandy', I may read a book he suggests: "'The Billion Dollar Molecule' is a great work of non-fiction relating the trials and potential riches of drug developement. It makes for a nice bookend for "The Constant Gardener".
FYI (Click on the blog title to finish a short article about drug trials for HIV in Africa: "People in sub-Saharan Africa carry the heaviest burden of HIV and AIDS, yet very few trials have been conducted on the African continent over the past two decades...")
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Senior Moments at Brookwood Mall
Expect an entry in the Winter Sidewalk Scramble from this group. More crew members are being recruited for Feb18 when we make a movie within 48 hours. We're newbies hoping to make a memorable five minute film! Saturday March 4 will be the public premier at Carver Theater. Click the title for a link!
Monday, February 06, 2006
My Folks
This is a photo from October, but I use it for the subject matter of MY SWEET PARENTS! On Thursday afternoons you'll find me with Dad. Today Mom came in from the hair dresser's and went straight to Dad and said, "I love you, honey. Are you all right?" "Why sure!" And that's normal interaction.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Poem by W. Maurice King
Isn't it good to know
When all roads are dead ends,
And all skies are overcast
And all dreams are nightmares,
and all hills are mountains...
Isn't it good to know
when all faith has oozed out
And there is no place to stand,
That "Underneath" are the everlasting arms!
===W. Maurice King
(E. Geer submitted this great poem) (Click the title for a site to search for poems.)
When all roads are dead ends,
And all skies are overcast
And all dreams are nightmares,
and all hills are mountains...
Isn't it good to know
when all faith has oozed out
And there is no place to stand,
That "Underneath" are the everlasting arms!
===W. Maurice King
(E. Geer submitted this great poem) (Click the title for a site to search for poems.)
Monday, January 30, 2006
Leader halves his salary!
I have no idea who this guy is, but look at the way he's raising money for schools and teachers! Click the title for a link to NEWS! (By the way, all titles have links.)
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Extraordinary Actions Needed in a Flat World
My/Our church is in the midst of an emphasis to incorporate OA’s into our work days and daily lives. Ordinary Attempts of kindness and grace--acts of giving attention to people we encounter--will allow us to be God to people who need listeners; who need encouragement; who need a friend. That’s everybody! We are to live with intentional interactons.
If you want the idea of the what’s going on with this Sunday School emphasis for the next six weeks, go to www.off-the-map.org. Supposedly, this emphasis is “not a pitch, not a presentation,” It’s just “off the map evangelism”. Well speaking of the map! The world maps of most congregants, the maps of most Americans, are very small. In fact they do not incorporate the staggering dimensions of need in today’s world. When we think of ordinary attempts, aren’t we using neighborhood maps and shouldn’t we be using realistic world maps?!
Here’s my take, which came to me today while sitting in church… We need EA’s to make a difference! Extraordinary Actions! Off the map evangelism to me would be to live outside our ordinary boundaries and to intentionally live to change the inequities of the world.
The need is great outside of America, but America is all we know. Or we act like America is all we care about.
• Did you know that 6,000 children become orphans daily in Africa?
• Did you know that half of the world’s population lives on 2 US dollars or less a day? That means they don’t have running water in homes or electricity.
• Did you know that there are 2.2 billion children in the world and that 1 billion live in poverty (1 of 2)
• Did you know that in 2004, 0.13% of the world’s population controlled 25% of the world’s assets ?
(Click on the title of this blog entry for a link to source material.)
The world IS flat – With globalization we are tied together more than we know or admit. We need to find out how we can intentionally listen to the needs of the world. We Americans act as though we are in the majority in the world because there aren’t many Muslims or Hindus in our neighborhoods. But in the world’s neighborhood, Christians are only 33% of the world’s population! Our “off the map evangelism” should be there!
Why is the map of "our world" so provincial when we enjoy the bounty of a much larger world? Why is our stance on intentional living limited to our daily life here in the States? We act as though we don’t know the conditions of the human race. Or else we know and we don’t talk about it. Why? There are many possible reasons: if you haven’t seen the third world need personally, as in travel and face-to-face encounters, then the needs are difficult to visualize... But with internet videos that’s no longer an excuse! OR we know--from Time magazine exposes, Public Television, from TV pleas to help in natural disasters, from internet blogs, from missionary accounts-- but we feel ineffective to make a difference. OR we believe that the world is set up this way; it can’t be changed. How unchristian!
That’s why the Lord’s prayer is, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” I believe if we can visualize equity, if we pray it, it will happen. WE, as Christians, must care and live outside our myopic belief systems. We can and we must venture to enforce EA’s: Extraordinary Actions.
Margaret Mead said: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." I want my Church to set the example, and it does with many vacation ventures to the other world. But daily, what more can we do? I think if Christian congregations were effective in offering "a cup of water" to places of need in the world, then there would be more interest in the workings of local congregations here. It will take Extraordinary Actions!
If you want the idea of the what’s going on with this Sunday School emphasis for the next six weeks, go to www.off-the-map.org. Supposedly, this emphasis is “not a pitch, not a presentation,” It’s just “off the map evangelism”. Well speaking of the map! The world maps of most congregants, the maps of most Americans, are very small. In fact they do not incorporate the staggering dimensions of need in today’s world. When we think of ordinary attempts, aren’t we using neighborhood maps and shouldn’t we be using realistic world maps?!
Here’s my take, which came to me today while sitting in church… We need EA’s to make a difference! Extraordinary Actions! Off the map evangelism to me would be to live outside our ordinary boundaries and to intentionally live to change the inequities of the world.
The need is great outside of America, but America is all we know. Or we act like America is all we care about.
• Did you know that 6,000 children become orphans daily in Africa?
• Did you know that half of the world’s population lives on 2 US dollars or less a day? That means they don’t have running water in homes or electricity.
• Did you know that there are 2.2 billion children in the world and that 1 billion live in poverty (1 of 2)
• Did you know that in 2004, 0.13% of the world’s population controlled 25% of the world’s assets ?
(Click on the title of this blog entry for a link to source material.)
The world IS flat – With globalization we are tied together more than we know or admit. We need to find out how we can intentionally listen to the needs of the world. We Americans act as though we are in the majority in the world because there aren’t many Muslims or Hindus in our neighborhoods. But in the world’s neighborhood, Christians are only 33% of the world’s population! Our “off the map evangelism” should be there!
Why is the map of "our world" so provincial when we enjoy the bounty of a much larger world? Why is our stance on intentional living limited to our daily life here in the States? We act as though we don’t know the conditions of the human race. Or else we know and we don’t talk about it. Why? There are many possible reasons: if you haven’t seen the third world need personally, as in travel and face-to-face encounters, then the needs are difficult to visualize... But with internet videos that’s no longer an excuse! OR we know--from Time magazine exposes, Public Television, from TV pleas to help in natural disasters, from internet blogs, from missionary accounts-- but we feel ineffective to make a difference. OR we believe that the world is set up this way; it can’t be changed. How unchristian!
That’s why the Lord’s prayer is, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” I believe if we can visualize equity, if we pray it, it will happen. WE, as Christians, must care and live outside our myopic belief systems. We can and we must venture to enforce EA’s: Extraordinary Actions.
Margaret Mead said: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." I want my Church to set the example, and it does with many vacation ventures to the other world. But daily, what more can we do? I think if Christian congregations were effective in offering "a cup of water" to places of need in the world, then there would be more interest in the workings of local congregations here. It will take Extraordinary Actions!
Saturday, January 28, 2006
4 Dottie--a Young Authors' friend
Dottie, the wonderfriend, loves without restraint. Love boomerangs back. It was evident that everyone feels promoted, encouraged, and stimulated in her company. The accolades at her party last night brought cheers, toasts, smiles, and applause!
A great decade lies ahead! Happy January 28!
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Visit Africa at McWane
This was an audio blog posted with my cell phone Audioblogger.com stopped working with Blogger.
Oh well,
It was a good temporary exhibit.
End of the Spear
On opening day I saw a fabulous movie and there were only seven in the theater. I went to a matinee, but still, more people should have been there!
It's called "The End of the Spear" and you don't want to miss seeing it on the big screen. It's from the real life stories of missionaries and a tribe of indigenous people in Ecuador. (even though it was filmed in Panama) I found great hope in it and I look forward to talking to those who see it. You have to like reading subtitles and enjoy the scenery of handsome bare chested Indians.
:-) I loved going into a river jungle through the lens of the camera.
Wow! what a movie! Make sure you get to the movie at its start for the full context... I remember hearing about Jim Elliot and others killed while taking the Bible to a people of the jungle, but that part was in the first third of the movie. The movie explained the actions of the Indians and showed what happened before and afterwards and even as recently as ten years ago... If you like anthropology or missions, If you like love stories, If you like God stories, If you like adventure and action, If you like driving percussion--you'll like this movie.
I think this is the first time I've ever seen such a blatantly Christian message in a movie made with such high cinematographic standards.
The power of love is so much stronger than preemptive strikes and retaliation. I wish today's policy holders would get a glimpse of that power and remember results of the message of LOVE and how it can change the times. That's the history of Martin Luther King's, Ghandi's, and Jesus's non-violence and how their message brought about change... and now I know the less told story of how the non-violence and love of missionaries-- turned a culture of revenge upside down...
Well, when you see it, let me know what you think!
PS The economics of the movie business means that if people see it in the first days, the more chance it has to stay at the theater and to open in more theaters across the country. I'm talking it up! If you like it, talk it up!
It's called "The End of the Spear" and you don't want to miss seeing it on the big screen. It's from the real life stories of missionaries and a tribe of indigenous people in Ecuador. (even though it was filmed in Panama) I found great hope in it and I look forward to talking to those who see it. You have to like reading subtitles and enjoy the scenery of handsome bare chested Indians.
:-) I loved going into a river jungle through the lens of the camera.
Wow! what a movie! Make sure you get to the movie at its start for the full context... I remember hearing about Jim Elliot and others killed while taking the Bible to a people of the jungle, but that part was in the first third of the movie. The movie explained the actions of the Indians and showed what happened before and afterwards and even as recently as ten years ago... If you like anthropology or missions, If you like love stories, If you like God stories, If you like adventure and action, If you like driving percussion--you'll like this movie.
I think this is the first time I've ever seen such a blatantly Christian message in a movie made with such high cinematographic standards.
The power of love is so much stronger than preemptive strikes and retaliation. I wish today's policy holders would get a glimpse of that power and remember results of the message of LOVE and how it can change the times. That's the history of Martin Luther King's, Ghandi's, and Jesus's non-violence and how their message brought about change... and now I know the less told story of how the non-violence and love of missionaries-- turned a culture of revenge upside down...
Well, when you see it, let me know what you think!
PS The economics of the movie business means that if people see it in the first days, the more chance it has to stay at the theater and to open in more theaters across the country. I'm talking it up! If you like it, talk it up!
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