A Poem for Holy Saturday

The ancient grayness shifted

Suddenly and thinned

Like mist upon the moors

Before a wind.

An old, old prophet lifted

A shining face and said:

“He will be coming soon.

The Son of God is dead;

He died this afternoon.”

A murmurous excitement stirred

All souls.

They wondered if they dreamed –

Save one old man who seemed

Not even to have heard.

And Moses, standing,

Hushed them all to ask

If any had a welcome song prepared.

If not, would David take the task?

And if they cared

Could not the three young children sing

The Benedicite, the canticle of praise

They made when God kept them from perishing

In the fiery blaze?

A breath of spring surprised them,

Stilling Moses’ words.

No one could speak, remembering

The first fresh flowers,

The little singing birds.

Still others thought of fields new ploughed

Or apple trees

All blossom-boughed.

Or some, the way a dried bed fills

With water

Laughing down green hills.

The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam

On bright blue seas.

The one old man who had not stirred

Remembered home.

And there He was

Splendid as the morning sun and fair

As only God is fair.

And they, confused with joy,

Knelt to adore

Seeing that He wore

Five crimson stars*

He never had before.

No canticle at all was sung

None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song,

A silent man alone

Of all that throng

Found tongue –

Not any other.

Close to His heart

When the embrace was done,

Old Joseph said,

“How is Your Mother,

How is Your Mother, Son?”

Limbo by Sister Mary Ada, OSJ

* In case you haven't figured it out,  the five red stars are the five wounds Jesus received on the cross

What is truly important?

Because of the presence of huge TV screens at home, it is easy to get swept up into events happening thousands of miles away and over which none of us has any control. This intrusion into our homes of these events, via TV,  can cause us to forget what is truly important.

What is truly important?  The family is, because it is the basic unit of society. What goes on there on a daily basis is the most important thing in the world.   The family home is our place of security, love, and caring. It is a haven in time of trouble and it is a place of rest for both adults and children.

The heart of the family home is the kitchen.  This is where wonderful childhood memories are made and where everyone in the family draws sustenance, both physically and emotionally.  A sweet poem by Lillian Burns Hudson  makes the point:

              Childhood's Day

How I remember Saturday's

In the days long gone by,

When Mother in the kitchen 

Was baking bread and pie.

How anxiously I waited

For the bread and pie to bake,

Then Mother took a mixing bowl

And began the chocolate cake.

She beat the eggs and sugar well

And added other things,

Then with a big spoon stirred it

Till the batter stood in rings.

The batter looked delicious

As she placed it in the pan,

Then set the bowl on the table....

That's when our fun began.

I remember as though 'twere yesterday

How my mother, gentle soul,

Would smile and look at me and say,

"Now you can lick the bowl."

How can such ordinary things as making a home or baking a special cake, be the most important things in the world?  

First, I will take myself as an example. I was born in 1942 - probably the worst year in history.  Living through the last half of the twentieth century there were wars, more wars, civil unrest and cultural revolution.  But what affected me most was the kindliness of grandmothers, aunts, and great-aunts and the home that my parents made.  I remember the 'auras' of their homes, and all of their kitchens in great detail.  I remember all the special treats made just for me;  all the special ways they took to show their love.  What are wars and revolution in the face of love?

Second, think about places where love is not shown, where no one cares, no one ever takes the time to do anything special for anyone.  It is a very sad situation - and no resolution of border wars or the cooling down of world 'hotspots' will do anything to make the people in these situations feel better or more secure.

Third, making a home and providing meals are like threads in a tapestry - the very fabric of our civilization.  And when it is done with love, the recipients are likely to carry the work of love  into their own lives.

Manly Sentiments from Generations Past

Do men still think this way?

Happiness by Carl Sandburg

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell
    me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of
    thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though
    I was trying to fool with them.
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along
    the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with
    their women and children and a keg of beer and an
    accordion.

Slovak Day, June 9, 2013

Mother's Motto

Motto:  A maxim adopted as a guide to one's conduct.

My mother has always had this poem hung above her stove wherever she has lived.  Early on it was on a round plaster plaque that was made to look like wood. 

Motto:  A brief statement used to express a principle, goal, or ideal

 One day it fell and broke.  It wasn't too long before the poem reappeared above the stove inscribed on a ceramic plate. 

Motto:  A sentence, phrase, or word inscribed on something as appropriate to or indicative of it's character or use.

Mom is 88 now and lives in her own home.  The plate continues to hang above the stove.  The most amazing part is that she is still happy working in her kitchen.  She cooks for herself and always has something ready for those who stop by.  At Christmas she bakes cookies and makes packages for friends and neighbors.  Cookbooks are her bedtime reading and her favorite topic of conversation is new recipes to try.

I'm thinking that there is something to this motto business.  Here is the rest of the poem on Mom's plaque:

My Kitchen Prayer

God bless my little kitchen

I love its every nook
And bless me as I do my work
Wash pots and pans and cook.

And may the meals that I prepare

Be seasoned from above

With Thy great blessing and Thy grace

But most of all Thy love.

As we partake our earthly food

The table before us spread

We'll not forget to thank Thee, Lord

Who gives us daily bread.

So bless my little kitchen, Lord

And those who enter in

May they find naught but joy and peace

And happiness therein.

Snowbound!

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent,
And soft,
And slow
Descends
The snow.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - my first and favorite poet thrills me every time it snows with his lines - 'Silent and soft and slow, Descends the snow'. What a gift to be able to paint a picture with words.

Well, right on cue as we closed the Christmas season, the winter season jumped upon us. As I sit at my desk looking out the window across the field, I can't see anything but white. No houses, no road, no soccer storage shed, are in view.

Birds are being blown past my window on their way to the feeder and there is one lonely large bird digging in the snow trying to get down to the dirt for a snack. It may be the young grackle that I saw on my porch rail the other day. I wondered how it was going to eat. Grackles don't do seeds.

Snowbound! One word that paints many pictures: bread baking, soup simmering, hot chocolate and cookies; crunching in the snow to fill the feeders; curling up with an afghan and a book (probably Snowbound by Whittier). It used to paint a picture of snow shovels and snow blowers, but that isn't needed at our new place. We can just open the curtains wide and enjoy the experience and spectacular view.

Living in a new place leads to learning many new things and to many new questions. For instance, the weather forecasts around here are hard to figure out. 5-7 inches of snow today, 1-3 tomorrow, and more the next day. That I understand - but 'freezing fog' is something I never heard of before and is something that I can't even imagine. I'll let you know if I figure it out.

In the meanwhile, I am going to try to find something for the poor grackle to eat. What do you think - peanut butter and raisins?

NO leaves, NO sun, NOvember

November is living up to it's bad reputation this week.

November

No sun - no moon!
No morn - no noon -
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member -
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! -
November!

by Thomas Wood

Boy! That's depressing - and so is the 5 days of rain we've had. But never fear - I have lots of inspiration and cheer to get through these darkened days. Here's a better November poem:

Kitchen Magic

When Gray days sometimes leave you
At a loss for what to do,
Fill your house with warmth and fragrance....
Bake a pie, a cake or two.

Make some heart-shaped sugar cookies
or a creamy pudding, fine;
A batch of fudge or brownies
Helps to pass the gloomy time.

A tin of golden muffins
Or some loaves of fresh-baked bread,
I am sure will be more pleasing
Than some 'store-bought' bread, instead.

What a thoughtful cheery greeting
For your loved ones...at the door
When they sniff your homemade goodies,
Wafting welcome evermore.

Violet Rourke Broderick

"Kitchen Magic" comes from the Ideals pamphlet shown on the left. It's one of several that I have - dog-eared and well used. The sentiments and heart-warming pictures always pull me back to the 'ideal' of family life and daily living. Some may call this 'corny', but the poems and pictures speak to my heart.

Today, I am inspired to make some of my Cranberry - Ginger Shortbread. - a recipe I copied from the Dec 2001 Victoria Magazine . So, I'll turn on all the lights in the kitchen, pick out a fall looking apron, line up all the ingredients on my island and indulge myself in a happy hour of creativity.

Cranberry Shortbread

2 sticks butter
1/2 cup superfine sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt
2 cups flour
2/3 cup coarsely chopped dried cranberries
1/4 cup minced crystallized ginger OR 1/4 tsp powdered ginger (or more to taste)

1. Line 1 or 2 baking sheets with parchment paper (for 3 6" rounds).

2. Cream butter and sugar. Add dry ingredients on low speed, slowly. Stir in cranberries and ginger. Mix until just crumbly. Knead together into a ball.

3. Divide dough into 3 balls. Press each to a 6" round on baking sheet. Cut each round into 8 wedges (do not divide). Press edges with tines of a fork. Chill 15 min.

4. Bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes. Edges should be light brown.

5. Let cool 15 minutes on pan. Cut now or later.

Of Cottages--and Kings

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cottages--and kings--"

This little ditty kept running through my head the other day. It's one of those famous poem lines I had to memorize as a child. After a while I realized that I had it wrong - the last line is 'of CABBAGES--and kings'. (Methinks it might have been a Freudian slip). I had been asking myself why I was still at sixes and sevens two full months after the big move, and what comes to mind but a Lewis Carroll nonsense rhyme!

It's called 'The Walrus and the Carpenter' and is from 'Alice Through the Looking Glass'. Since I was thinking about it, I decided to look up the rest of the poem. Here's the first two stanzas:

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.


The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

I've never been a big fan of Lewis Carroll or of nonsense poems in general, so I was shocked to find that it was making sense to me! Everything is topsy-turvy and not in the place it's supposed to be. Even the sun and the moon seem to be in the wrong places.

I can relate to that. Since 1978 I've lived in houses that were oriented East to West. My new cottage is oriented North to South. I can't see the sun rise OR set. I always tried to do my morning devotions at sunrise and it was great to see a new day dawn. If I could, I tried to do my evening devotions at sunset - sometimes with spectacular displays as a backdrop. The last house was a great one for sunsets.

And that's not all: every time I automatically reach for something, it's not there and I have to stop and think where I've put it. Every time I write my address, I have to stop and really concentrate to get it right. I used to just jump into my car and it would go on automatic pilot to wherever I needed to be. (Okay, some days I'd end up in the wrong spot, but not too often). The first night we were here I didn't realize that I was sleeping on the wrong side of the bed because it was turned around. I ended up falling off in the middle of the night. And on and on it goes.

I really like my cottage and don't miss my old house at all - certainly NOT the stairs. But I have been disoriented. I'm sure it's not my age!

O course, sooner or later, this will all pass. In the meanwhile, I think I'll dig out my Alice books. I may be able to relate to her in a whole new way!

Going on a Poem Hunt

The Friday after Thanksgiving Collette came to visit with the Princess and the General. We had a delightful Thanksgiving Tea, and a great discussion with the Princess about decorating her bedroom. This caused me to notice how 'grown-up' the Princess is becoming!

Now, there is a delightful little poem by Dorothy Aldis called Grown Up - but I could only remember the first stanza. So, this weekend I had to go on a poem hunt.

I looked through every possible book; I looked on-line. And although I could find others by Dorothy Aldis, I couldn't find the one I needed. So, I put out a call to the only other person left in the world who would know this poem - my daughter, Karen. AND SHE CAME THROUGH! Here it is:

GROWN UP

I'm growing up, my mother says -
Today she said I'd grown.
The reason why is this: now I
Can do things all alone.

And though I'm glad that I don't need
Someone to brush my hair
And wash my hands and face and button
Buttons everywhere,

Although I'm very glad indeed
To help myself instead,
I hope that I won't have to try
TO TUCK MYSELF IN BED.

I was delighted to find this old favorite. And all poetry lovers will understand why I NEEDED to find this poem.

(The picture above is from Allposters.com)