Truth is Truth

Last night a friend told me something I want always to remember. No doubt I will.

He said it was one of those sayings you see somewhere, couldn't remember where. No matter, I say.

Here it is.

We must save the planet. It's the only place we can get chocolate.

Keep Your Eyes Open

Yesterday we passed the 11th anniversay of 9/11.  And I do remember where I was--coming downstairs to go for a long training walk. Wayne and Richard were in the family room watching the terrible events unfold. I sat with them for a time. We were all stunned and I could hardly believe what I saw. Too frightening. The world changed that day.

I walked with those pictures of the World Trade Center going down playing over and over in my mind. When I got home I called Ann. We cried together.

Later in the day President Hinckley spoke to us via satellite from Salt Lake City. To offer comfort and counsel. Many of us needed it.

Wayne went to work. Richard went to work. That night I taught my class, and that event in New York is what we wrote about. I will always remember my student from Croatia writing, and telling us, that this frightened her more than the war she had escaped from, because this is America. She came here knowing she would be safe.

What changes have come about in those 11 years. Many.

In my family: Richard is married, living in Canada, two beautiful children. Alyce is married, living in Pennsylvania. Wayne no longer sits in the family room or goes to work. And I miss him. I have retired from teaching. And so on and so forth.

Today, this very day, Israel is miffed at the treatment (a euphemism for snub) Netanyahu has received from the White House. And I am, too. Unrest (a euphemism for violence) in Egypt. Muslim protesters storming the US Embassy, burning our flag. Libyan muslims burning the US embassy in Benghazi, killing the ambassador and three other Americans.

Why? Apparently someone in this country made a film that, purportedly, insults the prophet.

The world is not a more peaceful place. And--dare I say it?--we had better watch out for the muslims.

Oh yes, I know, we're supposed to say muslim extremists, but look at the news photos. There are more than a few people involved in these very violent acts. Obviously, many muslims are extreme in their behavior.

Poem, September 2012

So. I haven't put up those pictures of Petra. It seems such a hard task, so I have simply not done it.

What I'll put here is what I think may be the completed version of the poem I started some weeks ago and posted in The Widow's Chronicle. But it's risky to think I have finished it. There's always another day, another way of seeing it.

What I See

That squirrel
plays around my neighbor's lopsided maple tree,
jumps up on the trunk and runs down,
turns flips, stops to flick his tail,
then repeats the whole dance.
It is like a dance,
wild and joyful.

What I see is his singleness.
Day after day he runs to that tree,
always alone.
And I try to draw some lesson,
as I often do.

I have seen squirrels
perform those acrobatic flips
in my own yard, but always by twos.
They chase between
the ash and the dawn redwood,
stopping now and then
to hold a pose for one another,
dash up the trees and down again
or take their noisy chase
across my roof.

Funny how the birds hold their peace
while the squirrels play.
The blackbirds and sparrows stay still
and out of sight,
even the mourning doves,
who every day whine out their grief.
(What are they mourning? I wonder.)
Perhaps the birds watch
from the nearby sycamore or honey locust,
drawing their own lessons.

The trees I know,
what they will do and when,
like the sycamore--it will hold its leaves
until late, late autumn
while the ash turns wine red
with the first frost--
or the dawn redwood
which, in spite of its name,
is not an evergreen.
And I know the birds--
robins, quail, magpies, even flickers
peck their way around my lawns;
sparrows and finches have long used
corners of my house for nest building,
with my blessing.

I don't much like squirrels,
but here they are,
so, yes, I watch them,
note their wildness with some small envy
and, after twenty years,
thought I knew them.
But this one squirrel
acting out his happy dance alone--
I do not know what it means
for him, for me,
perhaps nothing at all.
But it seems not quite right,
and I cannot believe
that squirrel
is not longing for something,
someone.


As I write it here, I see a few spots I'll likely have to come back to, tinker with. But I'll leave it for now.

It's now Saturday, and I have tinkered, and how.