Haiku Monday: Skull

Architectural?
This horrid capuchin crypt?
No! Ghoul tour terrors.



Roman holiday!
Tour the skulls of religious
deceased! No thank you.

Let Go!

This was, apparently, my week to run into friends I have not seen in a while. I often have friendships with smart, busy, independent women. Our friendships are not based in endless phone chat or e-mails or clubs. More often there is a strong connection which never loses strength between visits. We just sort of take up where we left off.


I met Booker at Church, having sat next to her one Sunday when she was trying to keep two toddlers controlled. She was not prevailing . When one of those babes slipped away I just casually picked him up,
placed him in my lap, whispered in his ear and there he stayed for the remainder of the service.  As it turns out this was one of those social Sundays with coffee and muffins in the hall after the Mass.  I came along with Booker and her grand kids to the hall where both of us automatically got the  children happily settled with juice and  cookies. Thus was a fine friendship begun.

This week we ran into each other in the Children's section of a bookstore. During our last visit  Booker was struggling with an issue of anger and forgiveness.  Two years ago when all her  children  (7) and grandchildren (19) had gathered at the lake house there was a terrible boating  accident.  Her two year old grandson went overboard , sustaining a serious head  and face injury from the propellers.


 There were so many family members at the gathering they were boating in relays. On this particular trip it was all "boys". The women had objected to the baby going but were over ruled by the men. The baby was properly inserted into a toddlers life vest before leaving the dock.While out on the lake he did what babies do, produced a loaded diaper which offended all the noses on board. So his Dad removed the baby's life vest and his swim trunks  to just take the diaper off.  His plan was to rinse it in the lake before placing it into the on board trash can. Unfortunately he was so eager to deal with the offending  diaper he forgot the baby. One of the other children started screaming before any of the men on board realized what had happened. They saved the baby's life but not the part of his face or gray matter cleaved  by the prop. 

Booker's issue is she cannot forgive her son in law.
She cannot view this as an accident.
She believes this to be a case of criminal negligence.

We  took the time to have a visit in the cafe section of the bookstore. We did the usual catching up about careers, interests, politics, and families. She did not mention her issues with her son in law and neither did I. Booker was gathering her purchases and saying good bye when she abruptly sat down and said in a fury,
" I hate him! I cannot stand for him to be in my house or speak to me or touch any of the grands"
"No progress huh?"
" It's worse! In the beginning I could not find forgiveness. I would go to confession and feel terrible at my lack of compassion for a father who I thought surely must be more damaged by this accident than his child. But over time I became aware he has never sought forgiveness because he has never accepted responsibility for this tragedy! Instead he  postures around saying what happened to the baby was 'God's will' and if this is the cross God has chosen for him then he will bear it without complaint. He actually takes credit for being a 'good man' by the way he shoulders his 'cross'. I want to squash him like a roach! How dare he excuse his own stupidity  and negligence by blaming God! How dare he bask in the glow of attention for his hardship?"

I do not have any grand children so I am sure I cannot truly imagine how Booker feels. Her situation is perhaps made worse by the fact this daughter and family are local so she sees them, all of them, often. I can fully understand how the flood of emotion gets reignited regularly.  I have experienced sustained anger so hot it nearly burned me up from inside out. I had to learn to let it go.

" Booker, there is a Zen proverb which says, ' Let Go Or Be Dragged'.
 I think you are being dragged."
" Damn it Fishy! Do you think I am suppose to forgive him?!?!?"
"  I  think  you can let go of the anger without forgiving your son in law."
" I cannot"

" Then how will you move forward?"


Two days later I ran into my friend Barbara at my favorite Landscape Nursery. I have never met a woman so able to express grief and joy simultaneously. Her son Paul was born with a heart defect. Predictions were he would succumb by age 2. He lived to 23, largely due to his Mother's incredible dedication. She made sure his time on Earth would be as long as possible and chock full of as many good  experiences as possible. She was also determined to  have more than grief and suffering as the benchmarks of Paul's life. She wanted there to be joy. She wanted there to be purpose.  Both were achieved.

On Paul's last morning his dad carried him out to the front porch taking a seat in a rocking chair positioned so Paul could watch the sun  light up the 60 acres he had called home and loved, his entire life. Paul's favorite horse had been moved to the front pasture for this last  good bye and, all the dogs were gathered there on the porch with Paul and his parents. Absent from this farewell was his sister Caroline.

 A few hours  before dawn Barbara  called Caroline. The phone was answered by  John, Caroline's husband.  Barbara did not ask to speak to Caroline. Instead she simply said , ' It's time, y'all come now". They did not come. Barbara called several more times but the calls went directly to voice mail.  Later in the day they learned the son in law had determined it would not be a 'good idea' for Caroline to " once again be subjected to her parents focusing all their attention on Paul while ignoring her".  I might have killed him with my bare hands.

Just like Booker, Barbara cannot find forgiveness for this idiot son in law.
Truthfully she does not understand why Caroline can stand the sight of him.
I get that.

 Shortly
after Paul's death the son in law accepted a job in Virginia.
Sometimes Caroline comes home with her daughters for a visit.
This month the grand daughters are coming to stay for a week while Caroline and her husband go to the islands. Barbara  was at the nursery buying colorful pots for the girls, ages 3 and 5, to plant up while they are here.  I was excited for my friend and said so.




She answered, " We no longer go to Virginia to see them. When we did go we stayed in a hotel. Caroline would bring the girls to see us there or we would meet in a park. It was painfully awkward. We were never invited to their home, never invited to have a meal with Johns family, who live in the next town over. John continues to believe we are horrible parents who should have let Paul die. His father is a country  preacher and also believes we spent 20 years not accepting God's will for Paul.  John's logic is had Paul died young 'in accordance with God's plan' Caroline would have had a more normal childhood. "
" Does Caroline agree with John's thinking?"
" No. Caroline loved Paul and has always accepted  the reality of his needs requiring more of our time. There were a few accusations and tantrums in her early teens but for the most part Caroline was always right there with us saving Paul."
" I am glad the girls are coming to visit."
" Me too. But Fishy, I just  cannot tell you how horrible it is to have that man sit in judgement of us and control if and when we can see our daughter or grand daughters. I loathe that man beyond all measurement.
Hardly a day goes by when I don't wish Caroline would pack up the babies and leave that man. I know it's a sin but I just cannot help it."

" Uh, I think you have to let this go"
" How?"
" I haven't a clue"

On the drive home I thought about our conversation. How indeed?

We are all commanded to " forgive those who trespass against us".
I know it would be difficult, if not impossible for me to forgive the trespasses these two women have suffered. Other than the initial insults these  men continue to cause grief. One by posturing about like he is standing up with his cross the other by continuing to pass judgement on a reality he has never experienced.
 

I understand that a thing cannot go away until it is forgiven.
 But are there things too heinous to forgive?
Plenty of theologians and philosophers have written about the "obligation" to  forgive. Or defined the inability to forgive as "weakness".  Sometimes in the journey to banish anger forgiveness follows. But is it really possible to heal thyself of anger without forgiveness?  And how many times must we forgive repeat offenders? Would that even be a good thing? Doesn't that just promote the  acceptance of the unacceptable?


Once a priest told me he appreciated my efforts toward making progress but that it was clear I had not reached  a truly forgiving heart and mind toward a life altering  trespass. There was more work to be done.  That remaining "work" took me years. Years! On occasion I still  have a white hot rage flare up but now the anger subsides quickly. I have always viewed the anger response as normal. Rational. Understandable. There is, I believe, such a thing as justifiable anger. I also believe there are transgressions which  cannot and should not be forgiven.  In my case I want  to not just forgive but have compassion for the trespasser.  I have mostly failed in reaching this objective.


In truth,  I can not begin to understand what you do with all that wrath when the trespasser is married to your child or parenting your grandchild or showing up regularly at your dinner table. 


On a recent outing I bought the "let go or be dragged" magnet. It is on the top drawer of a filing cabinet
facing my desk. I see it when I look up from this screen. It gives me pause. I think it good advice. Let go.

Our Winner Is ....

Nature is our winner!
Mother Survivor prevails.

Moi advised us clearly :
Adapt or die


Boxer reminded us what Mother once nursed returns the favor:
Fallen tree nurses


Gentleman Karl hammered home Moi's message:
Change is the new norm








Bi-Czar was off message with his 17 about a vice not an ecosystem.

Serendipity illuminated the balance of power.
Photosynthesis is Algae's job not Fungi's.


Becca reminds us good is not always positive:
rain.....like tears from angel's eyes


Aunty Belle opened her eyes long enough to remind us to be vigilant:
Alas!


Corey Jo personalizes the bees struggle:
No honey for me.


Rafael's haiku haunted me.
It speaks of a frightful tragedy , the transition from the blessing of baptism to the horrors of Nature diverted from her purpose. There is much intensity in the implied perversion from once "baptismal tides"  to the resulting devil spawn of "poison"  tides/


Chickory once again shared with us her love for and the beauty of her Summer forest,
July's broadleaf glade


Because of these haiku I have revisited the meanings of a "glade" of "photosynthesis"  and of a "derecho".
I re-read some of the credits for Helios, the duties of mycorrhizal fugi and all the definitions for  "spawn".
This was helpful although not particularly influential.  The top three are:
Moi
Serendipity
Rafael

So it came down to the visuals:
Have you visited these sites?
Moi had a picture of creation
Serendipity has a picture of Lichen's Troth
Rafael has an image which looks like an abstract painting of tidal dna gone amuck.


Stalemate!
I loved something about  all the visuals!
This necessitated another reading aloud.
So the winner emerged ...


Photosynthesis
is algae's job, not fungi's
in Lichen's troth

Congratulations Serendipity!


Thank you  all for playing :-)
Well, maybe not Czar ......eeeeewwwwweeeeee!

Haiku Monday Theme: Ecosystem

Our area is in a drought status. Recently we had enough rain to downgrade our status from "severe" to " moderate".  Throughout the region there remains serious concerns for the ecosystems of  our streams, rivers, lakes, estuaries, marshes, wetlands, bays and 
p.o.n.d.s !!!!!

Because of this I have given much thought of late about ecosystems.What is my own piece of the puzzle? Do I contribute to the balance of a greater ecosystem? I am not likely to be bear food or to eat a bear but does that mean  my being has no bearing on bears?  What is the significance of seeing more preying mantis and fewer ladybugs this year?  Why are we seeing  more black garden snakes  than ever before and why do the sugar ants seek out my air conditioned house instead of subterranean ant hostels?

South of here a bit there are folks taking great issue with the desires to deepen and lengthen the ports in both Savannah and Charleston. There are concerns about  fish species, insect species and the birds they feed and those which feed on the birds. There are daily arguments in the paper  from the side screaming for progress and jobs and those screaming for stewardship of the Earth. As best I can tell we are all losing.

Rules of the game are  the  classic 5-7-5 format of imparting an awesome concept/message/ wish in just 17 syllables. And, while my beloved Troll seems to have abandoned me, I cannot abandon his teachings.   Thus,  proper  use of Kigo (seasonal reference) and kireji  (cutting word) will each have an additional point value.  I like visuals so these too are factored  in determining the top three. Just give me a  "visuals up!" so I know to come have a look. Two haiku per entrant will be judged. If you write more, please indicate which are to be judged.  As always, you are welcome to invite friends and family to play. The bigger the game the more we learn!


Happy weekending.

The Wedding

The Kellen-Culpepper wedding was spectacular. (see post of 2-04-2012)


Spectacular venue.
Outstanding food.
Flowing libations.
An inspiring church chorale group before and during  the ceremony
A rockin' 11 piece band from Asheville for the reception.
Gorgeous flowers
Gorgeous bridesmaids in gorgeous dresses they will wear again.
Handsome groomsmen in  silvery gray suits looking ....composed and confident.
Radiant mothers and grand mothers.
Smiling fathers.
Darling flower girl toddler and the most beautiful child on Earth as the ring bearer.
Confident groom.
Breathtaking bride.
Breathtaking gown.

In even my best dreams I  have never designed a wedding this beautiful for Mermaid.
( Sorry Babe)

I could not be more pleased for my friend Grant and her hubby, the parents of the bride.
I have never seen more joyful parents. They are pleased with her choice in Culpepper and if there is any friction between the families it was undetectable. They all were having a great time.  I had a great time too as I was seated with the families of the  brothers of the father or the bride.  I was introduced as an adoptee of the brides family and was regaled with hilarious family tales  from the assorted aunts, uncles and cousins. At least two of the cousins I would bring home to Mermaid in a heartbeat.  I am very, very honored to have been the only guest at a family table and to have been so ...  enfolded. I will count my blessings every day of my life should Mermaid marry a family this generous of spirit.

The venue was in the mountains bordering North and South Carolina and just a  stones throw East of the Georgia line. This venue offers a "barn" which is actually a very wisely designed events building.
It is mostly open to the view you see here but with a roof and  walls  on the sides. So the feeling is of an outdoor wedding but no one was uncomfortable or bugged or rained upon. The sides have huge
double hung windows so hot air could be vented out while  winds were kept from whistling through microphones or hairdos or turning skirts into kites. On the road side of the building there is a caterer's kitchen, a brides preparation suite and facilities on the right. On the left is the farm store offering  preserves, relishes, pickled veggies, vinegars, spreads and butters from the fields. There is also the option to purchase fresh from the hen eggs and  all natural proteins. Beef, chicken, pork and fresh catch from the mountain streams.

There was some mingling of the left and right fronts as  on the caterer's side of the barn  is where  men in black slacks, tucked shirts, bow ties, white chef hats and sleek black aprons were grilling bacon wrapped fillet mignons and frying up catfish for the dinner. Part of this farm is an orchard so the salads were pear, apple, arugula and walnut in a fruity vinaigrette which was so yummy it was hard to  resist licking the plate. The fillet was perfect.
Perfect temperature.
Perfect texture.
Perfect taste.
There were an assortment of  picked that morning grilled vegetables from the farm and 3 gentlemen assigned the task of keeping fresh, hot, hand mashed  potatoes coming forth by the steaming bowlful.
One of the Uncles said, "We are a meat and potatoes kind of family so they know better than to serve up ballerina fare." Clearly he has never seen ballerinas eat after a performance. All of the brothers, and their offspring, are over 6'6" without a single extra pound in sight on a one of them.  Obviously they have figured out what works best for them. If I ate their regular diet I would be called  unkind names by teenage boys hanging out of car windows.

Both the bride and the groom are graduates of the Big Orange University. So the wedding colors were  of course orange. O.R.A.N.G.E. The girls bouquets were  Applegate and Tropicana roses, mixed with Limelight Hydrangeas, various  pink and white baby roses and sugar snap peas they clearly stole from Chickory.  The mothers wore purple the grandmothers wore green. Very beautiful in the presence of that gorgeous, groomed,  green orchard with that amazing  purple mountain background  basking in the last glow of orange light.  Breathtaking ! And smart. As if someone had spent days on site matching colors to the environment. I remain impressed.

The guests were mostly young people in their 20's or 30's  who were having a really great time. They were  beautifully dressed. There were no visible tats or piercings or other irritants. There was no drama from the guests.  No overheard cattiness, no  offensive flirtations, no unfortunate behaviors resulting  from the flowing libations. It was so beautifully wholesome I nearly cried. This was a living diorama of our country I so love. And fear we are losing.  I pray not. I prayed for Kellen and Culpepper, for Grant and her sweet, proud husband. I prayed for their continued joy.  I prayed for their ability to resolve their differences with wit and wisdom. I prayed my gratitudes too for being a witness to these celebrations.

As I was leaving the reception the Matron of Honor, the older sister of the bride, came and gave me a big hug. She is pregnant with the first grand child of the family. A daughter. Due in late October. After our hug she took both my hands and said, " Miss Fishy, I told Mama she has to give you to me next.
Our house is small but I want our baby  Ellie to have a beautiful nursery. When can you come to us?"

 I love being a present.

Decoration Day

It so happens my 19th year,
I was at my Grandmother's home on "Decoration Day".
I knew the day to be "Memorial Day" but since that was a name change in the late 1960's my grandmother paid this "no nevermind" preferring to maintain loyalty to the original label.

I had noticed in the week leading up to this day there had been an unusual amount of telephoning in my Grandmother's life. In her house there was one  land line phone with a very long cord so she could move all around the house and not be "tied to the wall"  in a single location. It worked well for her but required astuteness on the part of those sharing the house with her. The unaware could find themselves kissing the hardwoods without notice. Since I had been stellar at jump rope on the school playground I was not often the one face down on the floor with depleted lungs.

In addition to all the telephone traffic there were numerous trips to the grocers, butcher, baker. I was dispatched to the alley way garage to find and organize for transport baskets, gloves, hats, gardening implements and old blankets.  Eventually I got around to asking why we were all so busy?

" It's  for Decoration Day."
" Isn't that a parade with horse drawn cannon and old men in funny uniforms?"
" Mind your manners Fishy."
" Huh?"
"Ladies do not say 'huh?' and it is impolite to disrespect the dead who suffered for you"
" Yes ma'am"

She went on to explain on Decoration Day every one got dressed up to attend  a 9am Mass
 in honor of "the Fallen", followed by a progressive Brunch from house to house of family members on all sides. Most of the telephoning  and other busyness was about who would be progressing and who would be hosting, the menus, the flowers and the all important question of who would be wearing what.

" Well then, why do you  keep sending me out into the alley to organize and pack  all the gardening stuff?"

" Because after Mass and Brunch we will  dash home to change, gather our picnics and our gardening equipment to meet up with the others at RoseLawn by two."
" RoseLawn?"
" The cemetery"
" Did you say picnic?"
" Really Fishy, have  you never been to a Decoration Day before?"
" Apparently not. I am sure I would remember picnicking in a graveyard "
" Watch that mouth Fishy!"
" Yes ma'am"

Exceeding all expectations I loved this day. The Mass and Brunch were pretty typical. Not much different from a normal Sunday schedule. Since this was in the days before the South allowed boozing and retailing on Sundays most of the time we had  family gatherings or went visiting.

RoseLawn is a beautiful old fashioned cemetery with huge moss draped oaks and family plots defined by azalea hedges,  roses, camelias and  statuary.  This was long before the days of flat markers and plastic cone shaped floral insults.  These were gardens of eternal resting.

When we reached the cemetery we joined a long winding caravan of cars slowly making the way to a chosen spot. We were bound for the grave of my Grandmothers second  husband
 (not my grandfather). He was not one of the "fallen" from military confrontations he had fallen to heart disease a decade before. His placement is graced with a life size angel statue so it was easy to find. We left the picnic in the car, but unloaded all the gardening gear and hiked over to the grave site. Hundreds of other families were doing the same thing. The common purpose was to first groom then decorate the grave sites followed by story telling and honoring of the occupants with food and music. It was a very festive and very social occasion. There was friendliness toward the neighbors families there for the same purpose. There was the sharing of the stories of the departed; some riotously funny, some  piercingly sad. Once the  headstones and statues had been scrubbed new, the graves  weeded, pruned, clipped, and nourished;  we hauled all the debris and tools back to the cars then returned with the blankets, our picnics, fresh flowers, flags and musical instruments.

Every grave was groomed and decorated.
Even those looking forlorn and abandoned on the perimeter of the grounds.  If there was a site with no family there, then those in proximity did the grooming and the decorating. And the talking. I don't mean talking about those resting on the other side of the grass, I mean talking to them. In the South, talking to the dead is a common practice. Now that my Mother is gone I completely understand this.  I talk to her often. Out loud. Which is a concern for Blowfish. He is a Yankeeman who does not walk around talking to his parents.  He thinks about them,  prays for them, but he does not talk to them as if they were right there with him. I suspect he thinks I am a  bit "off ".  If he had ever been to a Decoration Day in the South he would not think anything of my chatting up the departed.

Younger children were given flags to plant next to the graves of those with no family present to do the duties. Children being children, they interspersed these duties with impromptu games of hide and seek or tag or jump the stone.  There were a few injuries. Many of them had been told to read the name of the occupant and say a little something to him/her while placing the flag. Kids are kids everywhere so what was heard were things like, "here lies Fred because he's dead!" or " Old Mr. Hopper told some whoppers!" I doubt these were the sentiments parents had hoped to hear but then they would shrug and grin and say something like, " Let's hope Fred has a sense of humor."  My favorite was one which said,

"It is best to carve  love into hearts before granite"

As day passed into dusk the musicians started strumming guitars, banjos, fiddles. There were plenty of  plaintive wails from harmonicas and more than a few singers who had obviously broken the Sunday drinking bans. Children danced between the headstones waving their sparklers  while the seniors quietly  reminisced.  In our group  there was a lull in the conversation when a brother in law of my grandmother stood up and started to sing,

 "My Country Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty."

 May this forever be true.

                                    God Bless You Each and Every One

A Bear of a Haiku

Half ton brown fishes

at waterfall precipice.

Mother's "Fresh Market"

Salmon for breakfast?

Waterside service for two!

Mind your manners Bear.