As I was finishing poem about my thoughts on the current state of this scorching heat. The melodiously sounds of childhood starting ringing throughout our neighborhood. Looking out my side bedroom window was the Mr. Softee truck slowing coming up the side street. Just like a little child I ran downstairs shouting, “The ice cream man is here, the ice cream man is here on our street!!!” My husband thought I had extremely lost my mind to senility. “Come on before he leaves!!” Much to the ice cream driver’s delight was a line of big hearted adults retracing their steps to memory lane. Along with a new neighbor from up the street telling us to hold up the ice cream man. Here she was running with no shoes on to make sure her children can get the ice cream truck experience. Sometimes all it takes to cool off is a double chocolate ice cream with chocolate sprinkles to make your day. Thank you Mr. Softee!!!
Farmers with not much produce going to market.
Extreme heat is stifling the backyard gardener’s joyful returns.
Lawns going to a crunchy brown. .
No lush green carpet to sink your toes into.
Evaporated rivers are turning up long lost dastardly deeds.
Amongst the cracked earth…
Fires in places where extreme heat doesn’t exist.
Britannia’s dwellings are bursting into flames.
Polar ice caps crashing and drifting away turning to liquid.
As polar bears swim with nowhere to find refuge.
Is this a bad dream from a restless slumber?
It is the extreme reality currently playing out.
I once knew a girl from the land of unity in diversity.
She told me stories of her beautiful country.
How the rich colors of the earth melded together into a silk tapestry
Where gold was pure as the hearts of her people.
She told me of Sunday picnics high on a hillside.
Envisioning her family amongst the elephants.
Where social workers taught women of many villages.
How to sell their beautiful hand made crafts in city markets.
And where the village women taught the social workers.
To create a beautiful connecting community…
She told me of place where Bengal tigers and black Bagherras roam.
Near the depths of jungle…
That the Taj Mahal trapped tourist’s imaginations.
To hold them hostage…
Until they fled away to the Yamuna river below…
Where parents lost their children to the North Atlantic shores.
Hoping for their return.
There once was a girl I knew who longed to return with her family.
To see Bharata once again…
Farewell my friend and thank you.
This Friday will be my co-worker’s last day working at the hospital. She and her family are moving south to a new state and a new city. Always the true social worker doing her absolute best for our patients and her colleagues. We had several thought provoking conversations about life in general and her life growing up in India. The above poem speaks volumes on the impact she made on me during her tenure. She would like someday to return back to India so her children could see elephants roam freely. The above photo of my finished painting I hope gives her children that glimpse of what their parents wish for them.
I am so beyond honored and grateful for placing 2nd in the annual international Mary’s Prayer Garden Contest. Sponsored by the Fr. Patrick Peyton Center and Museum of Family Prayer in N. Easton MA. This is a photo of my front yard garden. It was accompanied by a short story. I am not posting this to toot by own horn, but to show everyone to follow your dreams. Take that chance you never know what could happen. I am always grateful when some stops by my Word Press site with likes or an exchange of kind words for what I present on my site. It has taken a lot of years to get this far to taking that leap of faith in myself. As the last line of Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken.” “Two roads diverged in, a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all difference
I am very fortunate to have two sisters who share my love of creativity. My sister Margaret who lives in Philadelphia is surrounded by so much diverse arts and culture. I have frequent flyer miles to the city of Brotherly Love. We mirror each other with our passion for writing.
Several years ago we visited south Philadelphia to see the Magical Gardens. When Margaret described the Gardens I was intrigued that it covered most of South St. and filtered out to other parts of the neighborhood. Established in the 1960’s by Isaiah Zager and his wife to slowly reclaim dilapidated buildings into works of art. Through eclectic mixed media of pottery, tile, bottles, broken mirrors,reclaimed junk and so on. It is “Disneyland” for the optical senses.
Margaret and I had the opportunity to meet Isaiah, as he was strolling with his dog in his pajamas through the art gallery. He just came up to us asking how we liked his creations. Stunned never expecting to meet such a famous artist in person. But we had a very short lovely conversation about art preservation and the importance for involving children in art. I still have Isaiah’s book on tiling and signed piece of his tile work. It was truly another remarkable adventure with my sister.
Backyard Fair Grounds
Aye, the dawn of a summer morning has risen and the sounds of tweeting birds are patiently waiting for their spot on our bird feeder. Squirrels and a menagerie of other animals are very well fed on Euclid Ave. Our backyard has become a fairground delight all year long much to the happiness of our furry friends.
They have me trained, as my husband would say. When the bird and suet feeders are empty, our feathered fair goers have an ingenious way of saying, “feed me.” The birds line up along our front stockade fence singing their songs of whoa to exclaim fill it up lady. While tweeting to each other the lack of service at the food stand. Even the squirrels get into the act; one squirrel will get on one side of the bird feeder another squirrel on the other side. Twisting and swinging the bird feeder around and around until they unscrew the top latch off. Making the lower part of the bird feeder fall to the ground as seeds spill out consuming the ultimate prize.
Now that is a fair ground ride with many benefits. Let’s not forget Mr. Ground Hog along with his chipmunk friends getting into the act of diving right into the seed pile. Talk about a full spectrum of free entertainment for the whole family. Right here in our back yard, so stop by and sit a spell. Don’t forget you can feed the animals at this fair ground.
This definitely a compilation of photos with different themes. With so many events going on this past week; Scranton Jazz Fest, Electric City Flower Show and the Human Library in Boyertown PA. It has certainly been an interesting seven days. Enjoy.
Working in a hospital illness is all around, even the lunchtime conversations are sometimes filled with descriptions of disease. Covering five floors I meet all types of people including other co-workers. The single word that comes to mind is WHY.
Why I am here? Why can’t I get better? Why can’t I leave? Why do I have to suffer? Why is my loved one dying? The last question is the hardest to be asked by anyone who has a loved one in a hospital bed. It is truly heartbreaking to watch someone you love slowly fade away into death’s arms. Because suffering is a part of the last unknown in this life.
When going from floor to floor hearing these questions and since I am not a qualified medical professional. What I will give the patient or family member is a genuine sympathetic ear. Reassuring them I will speak my case manager. To have her stop by the patient’s room and talk with them. Leaving the room I say a short prayer. This is something I have done all my life after speaking to anybody who is in distress.
Today was the usual busy day and was looking forward to lunch. My co-workers and I sat at the usual table in the back by the gift shop.
Talking about our day and the activities after work. All of sudden the cafeteria was a buzz concerning a wedding that will be taking place at 3pm in the chapel. A wedding in the hospital. We thought we were hearing just a silly joke. Until our nursing director Matt said, “Yes ladies there will be a wedding today at 3pm in the chapel. The daughter of one our hospice patients came to see me yesterday. To ask permission to use the chapel so she and her fiancé can get married before anything happens to her dad. The family has invited the entire hospital staff to attend.”
No sooner than we thanked Matt for the invitation. Members of the cafeteria staff were rolling carts filled with beautiful white flowers, food and a white wedding cake. We were amazed how quickly everything was coming together. Just like life it quickly gets away from us. Even though I couldn’t attend since our department’s case load doesn’t give us the opportunity to breathe.
The stroke of 4:30 pm chimed to clock out and I was passing by the chapel it was filled with an air of beauty. A family mixed with hospital staff celebrating a marriage. Thinking to myself despite all of the uncertainty of our lives. Love momentarily stopped death. No matter what we are going through in the end it is all about love…
Between the lines of black and white… Grey becomes the attentive color…
It’s contrasting hues breath soft pillows within the air…
Overcoating layers of paint and rusted Victorian iron… That are chipped away onto the cracked pavement…
Twisting and rippling back to black and white against the green ivy
A locked Medieval door portraying all that is visible… Greyscaling ranges of gray that have no apparent color… Reflecting the light showing woodgrain and steel…
Photography blurring the lines between white and black…
The first six photos were taken at the Dunmore Reservoir this past Tuesday. It is fantastic place to hike and fish. The last photograph was taken from the 3rd floor of the hospital parking lot as I was leaving work. Enjoy and have a great weekend.