the birds are shouting at me (i can't sleep)

3:00am and the

urge to pee
i should not drink
water at 9:00pm
shuffle to the bathroom
cold tile floor
return to the cocoon
of soft sheets and
heavy comforter
but no sleep
thoughts about
All The Things
it was a good weekend
still, i worry about
All The Children
mine of course and
also the ones at work
and then, and then
i worry about worrying and
Not Being Able To Sleep
also - health, bills, plans,
logistics related to
appointments, events, duties

i try...
counting backwards from 300
deep breathing
making a mental list of
  - decluttering to do
  - books to read
i look at my phone - just once
i look at my watch - many times
husband snoring on and off
one more trip to the bathroom

then - birds chirping
SO LOUDLY
SO CHEERFULLY
At This Hour
reminds me of
one day long ago
very early in the morning
my toddler son said
"the birds are
shouting at me"

annoyed by the noise
i kick my husband
before remembering
it is the BIRDS who
are making noise,
not him

finally i get up
go to the living room
find my notebook and pen
sit on the couch
cold in the early morning
i write these words
and think to myself...
if this is the muse
visiting me...
i don't want her


*****

I've written about sleep challenges before in the post Dreaming Steven Tyler is my dentist and other sleep problems. 

Blogging as a conversation

This is the last of seven posts in my Spring Break Blog Challenge.  I created the challenge to push myself to write more this week, and I've accomplished that goal.  Since my blog doesn't have a specific theme and since I didn't plan ahead for this challenge, I've written about many different things this week - observations, experiences, reflections, etc.  Some ideas came as inspiration the day the posts were written; others had been percolating in my mind for some time.  A couple of the posts included pieces I wrote in the recent or distant past and decided to share.

When I started this blog in June 2014, I posted Why I Write.  I included a variety of reasons or purposes for writing, including writing as a gift.  That could mean very literally a gift, as in a letter or poem composed for a specific person.  Or it could mean the gift of sharing words with others in the hope that those words might entertain or illuminate or inform.  In as much as I hope people will read and connect with the words I write, blogging is a gift to myself as well.  That's partly because I feel very compelled to write, and I feel better when I do it.  But there's something else...  What's been so satisfying about blogging, not just this week, but since I started almost three years ago is - the conversation.  Whether it's just one response to a post or many, whether it's a comment on the blog or on Facebook or in person - I'm grateful for the dialogue that occurs between me, the words I've written and the people who read them.  Thanks for reading!
 
*****
This week's posts:

1 - the labyrinth
2 - Two sides of the fence
3 - aging at the roller-rink & other observations
4 - Yes, you do like poetry.
5 - Nature therapy revisited
6 - When your dad dies (& some thoughts on grief)
7 - Blogging as a conversation (this post) 

When your dad dies (& some thoughts on grief)

my dad, several months before he died, with my mom and daughter

Good Friday seems as good a day as any to write about death and grieving.   

My dad died on December 23, 2010.  Since my dad's birthday is Christmas Eve, that particular holiday is forever linked with memories of his life and death.  Holidays and other milestone events can be particularly difficult times when grieving the recent or not-so-recent death of a loved one.  And yet every grief is different.  I do know what it's like to lose a father, but I don't know what it would be like to lose a best friend, spouse or child.

After my dad died, my mom and I attended a few presentations in the Common Ground of Grief, which I highly recommend.  The presenter is Patrick V. Dean, MEd., C.T., founder of the Wisconsin Grief Education Center.   There's some useful information on his website, including the Top Ten Touchstones: Grief, Mourning and Healing.  One of those touchstones is that grieving is both universal and unique.  We all grieve in our own way.  In his presentations, he talks about how the secret of life is death.  If we lived our earthly life forever, it wouldn't be so precious to us.  The reality of our eventual death shapes the realities of our lives.  Even for those who believe in a life after death, the fact of our human death compels us to live differently than we otherwise would. 

Writing was a tool in my path of grieving.  I was honored to write and deliver the eulogy at my father's funeral.  It's the hardest thing I ever wrote, and yet it was a profound experience to compose and deliver those words.  Much of what I wrote in the days and months and even years after losing my dad is very rough and not meant to be shared.  But some of it might help illuminate the experience of grief for others.  Below is a sort of poem that I wrote on March 3, 2012, over a year after my dad died.  My feelings are still pretty tender.  It reflects a bit on what to say and not say to people who have lost loved ones.  I wasn't mad about things people said, because I know their intentions were good.  But sometimes the comments felt so disconnected from my feelings.

*****

When your dad dies

When your dad dies
People will ask you how old he was
As if that matters
Was it a long illness or unexpected
That doesn't matter either
They will say he is in a better place
You will find no comfort in that
You don't want him in a better place
You want him HERE.
When your dad dies
And you are talking about it to your friend
She will say something about
People having a hard time with death
And you will think, but not say
Yes, of course, I have a hard time with death
I just lost my dad
And I'm in so much pain.
When your dad dies
And you confide that you are
Going to miss him so much
A relative says
But how often did you really see him?
The answer is: all the time
But really it doesn't matter
If you saw him a lot or hardly ever
You will miss him.
When your dad dies,
People will hug you
And you'll cry together
That will be your siblings
And your favorite cousin
Or maybe even someone from work.
When your dad dies,
People will say they are sorry
And you will know that they are.
They will say that
they don't know what to say
That's okay too.
An acquaintance might say
Death sucks
That person understands.
Someone else will look away
And change the topic
She wasn't ready
For your vulnerability.
When your dad dies
It will hurt, it will ache
Your heart will be broken.
When your dad dies
The intensity of the pain
Will lessen with time
Or you couldn't survive it.
When your dad dies
You will always be
A different person
Afterward.
Because he is gone from
Here and now.
When your dad dies
You will remember
His love, his life, his spirit.
When your dad dies
It will be hard
It will stay hard
In many ways.
You will never stop missing him.
When your dad dies
He will live in your memory
In everything
That he taught you
That he showed you
In the person you have
Become.

Nature therapy revisited

photo credit: Anna Krawczyk

We might not need one more book or article to convince us of the restorative benefits of nature for both our physical and mental health.  We already know that's true.  However, we might need to see the research now and again as a necessary reminder to do what we should be doing: get some nature!  I know I need the reminder.

This recent article posted on Facebook caught my attention:  The Original Natural Remedy for Burnout: Nature.  The article cites a recent study with this interesting but perhaps not surprising statistic:

"People report that they feel significantly happier outdoors than they do indoors, yet we spend less than 5 percent of our waking hours in nature."

The article cites research to back up many of the stress and anxiety-relieving benefits of spending time in nature.  The author also writes about studies done on nature's impact on creativity and the ability to think more clearly.  I definitely have experienced those benefits in my own life.  If you're interested in learning more about the research or you just need a good reminder to spend more time in nature, take a few minutes to read this article.  I like the fact that the author gives some concrete suggestions of how we can make a more intentional effort to spend time in nature.       

If you've read my blog at all, you know that I often write about nature and reflect on its therapeutic effects.  So if you need inspiration or want to immerse yourself in nature on a day when you're stuck inside, I've linked some of my nature-themed posts below.  These posts also show that spending time in nature doesn't have to mean a trip to a State or National Park, as wonderful and beneficial as those trips can be.  Most of us can find beautiful and restorative natural places closer to home. 

I hope you'll spend some time in nature this holiday weekend!

*****

cell phone/nature poem for the first day of spring

in-between

I hug the trees too.

"Prettyish kind of a little wilderness" - in the city

Nature therapy

Yes, you do like poetry.

It's almost mid-April, but it's not too late to celebrate National Poetry Month.  The Academy of American Poets founded National Poetry Month in April 1996.  On the website for National Poetry Month 2017, you can sign up to receive a poem-a-day and find other ways to appreciate poetry this month and beyond. 

And yes, you do like poetry.  I used to be a person who thought I didn't perhaps like poetry.  I didn't not like it, but maybe I thought it wasn't quite for me.  People - myself included - sometimes think poetry isn't for us, because we have stereotypical or limited views of the genre.  Poetry is not just Shakespearean sonnets (which are lovely) or ancient epics or indecipherable abstractions or cutesy-sentimental rhymes.  Poetry encompasses those things and so very much more.  If you appreciate song lyrics or are moved by a particular prayer or have laughed at a limerick, you like poetry.     

Sharing poetry with children, as a classroom teacher and as a homeschool mom, has made me appreciate the genre more.  It helped open my eyes to the diverse forms that a poem can take.  If you have children or work with children, by all means please read poetry to them!  There are so many delightful collections specifically for children and don't underestimate their ability to appreciate more complicated poems as well.  Memorizing a short poem together can be a fun challenge.  

Some of the more formulaic types of poetry are especially appropriate (and lots of fun) when having children try writing their own poetry.  Kids really like writing cinquain poems, acrostic poems, haiku, limericks and list poems.  I've enjoyed trying some of those forms as well.  Early on in writing this blog, I did a thirty day blog challenge.  Many of my posts were short and silly poems that I composed to meet my daily goal.  Recently, many of the stories I want to tell or ideas I want to share have come out in the form of poems. 

I really have come to appreciate poetry, as a reader and as a writer.  And I hope you do too.  Please read and share some poetry before the end of the month.  Feel free to comment and share your favorite poems or poets here.   

I'll close with a side-by-side presentation of two poems that I shared in a poetry unit I taught.  And, for a completely different take on poetry, I highly recommend the documentary Louder Than a Bomb about a high school poetry slam contest in Chicago.  It's a very powerful film. 

aging at the roller-rink & other observations

1.  At the roller-skating rink far in the suburbs, a middle-aged man is skating alone among the families, tweens and teens.  He's balding with a long, thin ponytail and a t-shirt tucked into purple-washed Guess jeans.  (They still make those?)  He skates fancy moves around the rink - spinning and turning and gliding backwards. 

2.  At the art museum downtown, an elderly women has a friend take a photo of her in front of a painting.  A security guard rushes over and tells them to turn off the flash.  The elderly woman's face is caked heavily with make-up.  She's dressed in a fancy hat, skirt and blouse.  She struggles to walk, shuffling herself along behind a wheelchair wearing very high-heeled pumps.

3.  At school, a little boy called me "old lady," and a middle-schooler called me "granny."

4.  I don't think I look like a granny.  But what does a granny look like anyway?

5.  I'll gladly slip on a pair of roller-skates and glide around the rink.  But I won't be returning to the
fashions of the 1980s or to the awkwardness of my adolescence.  I already suffered through those fashions and that age.  Once was enough.

6.  I hope I'll be appreciating art at the museum thirty or more years from now, maybe shuffling along with a walker or wheelchair.  I definitely won't be wearing make-up or high heels, because I don't even wear them now.  I'm far too lazy and fond of comfort for all of that.

7.  I am glad to be forty-eight years old and alive in this very interesting world full of very interesting people.

Two sides of the fence

on one side of the fence
there is a stone bench
and community gardens
a pile of mulch
being surmounted
by small children
who are white.
they wear colorful rain boots
and lands end jackets.
they take nature walks
with their caregivers
and sing songs
about the seasons.
(or so i imagine)

on the other side
is a basketball court
the wind has blown
dead leaves & wrappers
along the edges.
there is a playground
and a tot lot too.
the kids who play here
are mostly brown and black
and not much older.
they shoot hoops,
chase each other,
race and skip rope,
sometimes fight a lot
using words incompatible
with their young selves.

a small girl follows me
around, huddles up
and takes my hand in hers.
or a small boy asks me
to tie his shoes and
zip his jacket.

sometimes children
from both sides
talk to each other
across the fence.
i like that.
they seem
not so separate
then.

*****

I wrote a version of this over a month ago and have tinkered with it a few times since.  I'm not quite satisfied with the piece yet.  It's an observation of a real place.  Perhaps this small scene is a sort of microcosm of the larger problem of segregation in Milwaukee.   

the labyrinth

 

sunlight streams
in on polished
warm wooden floors
and through the
intricate, jewel-toned
stained glass windows
geometric and
floral in pattern

i walk slowly
through the
labyrinth
speaking in
my mind of
questions, prayers
whether they are
memorized, read
or spontaneous
i remind myself
to breathe deeply

i notice patterns
and scratches
in the floor
a wooden cross
with a beautifully
painted image
candles lit
throughout the sanctuary
billowy white banners
hang from the
ceiling and form
a canopy of sorts
sacred chanting
is played from
somewhere

my mind wanders
nevertheless
so very many
things to do
or worry about
but I continue
to walk slowly
to notice
my footsteps
the path and patterns
the peace and beauty
return me to
contemplating
listening
and listening
for the quiet
voice

at the center
i kneel and pause
breathe deeply
say my own
kind of prayer
i rise and leave
more peaceful
more rested
maybe a bit wiser
just for now
than when
i entered

*****

Have you ever walked a labyrinth?

"Labyrinths are used worldwide to quiet the mind and to seek balance, peace, and discernment.  Offering a tranquil refuge from a fast-paced world, they provide the space to pursue a cross-cultural practice of centering and contemplation, which has long been embraced by Christians and non-Christians alike."  (quoted on handout from Calvary Presbyterian Church)

I've walked a few different labyrinths, both indoor and outdoor.  Today my son and I visited an indoor labyrinth at The Big Red Church.  For Milwaukee people, this is the red church on Wisconsin Avenue near Marquette University.  It's home to Calvary Presbyterian Church and is used by other organizations as well.  Labyrinths can be a wonderful method of contemplation, meditation or prayer for all people, regardless of spiritual or religious beliefs.

This labyrinth at The Big Red Church is open to the public on the 2nd and 4th Sundays of each month from 4:30-6:00pm.  Check out http://www.thebigredchurch.com/labyrinth for more information.  The church offered a variety of poems, prayers and reflections to accompany the labyrinth.  I particularly enjoyed this poem by Wendell Berry.

 

The Real Work

by Wendell Berry

 

It may be that when we no longer know what to do

we have come to our real work,

 

and that when we no longer know which way to go

we have come to our real journey.

 

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

 

The impeded stream is the one that sings.