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Sharon Ann Wildey’s Poetry Site
Winner Nanowrimo 2012
Where does disappointment go when it is done with you?
When all of the hurts and pangs of the unrealized
have stripped you of joy and rendered your eyes red and raw,
where is its offender? Where is it?
Disappointment, like so many emotions,
renders the king among us
as low as the plowman.
It buckles us, knees on floor.
There is no undoing, no going back.
We can’t unsay the words, become unhurt.
Disappointment takes its toll,
demands its payment.
Left barren, a bit less than before,
disappointment has taken something away.
It absconds with a little piece of the soul,
snickering over its shoulder as it trots away, unseen, on its dark horse.
The shadows fall long and thin.
The world dims, daylight less bright.
We realize we will never be as whole as we once were,
in the moments before it claimed us.
We can’t give as much, we haven’t it to give.
The cistern empties, too low to share.
Even breath is shallow.
The taking of it a reminder of the thing missing.
And people ask what is wrong,
but they don’t really want to know.
They want a simple answer,
something quickly mended.
They don’t want the sharp,
shards of truth stabbing in the eye.
They want to see something fixable,
not the pallor of disappointment.
For when disappointment finds us,
It leaves no trace of its presence.
The scar is internal, no ridge on flesh.
No bandage is visible, nothing to pull away.
Where does disappointment go when the well is dry
and the barren tree has no more fruit?
It goes into the heart, a borer worm,
And eats away at hope daring to bloom.
Poem by Renee C. Johnson
It’s been seventy years since the most famous D-Day in history, the day America and the Allied Forces stormed the beaches in Normandy, France to secure freedom for the occupied European countries. I can’t imagine the courage it must have taken to run head-long into battle, surrounded from above, or parachuting in with no certainty as to the landing.
I wish I had paid more attention to the stories flying around the huge dinner table in my parent’s house when I was a kid. More than that, I wish I could use one of J.K. Rowling’s time-turners to go back and hear it again from the perspective of an adult.
Both sides of my family had participated in World War II. They were stationed in England, Germany, and yes, France. Horrific injuries had been inflicted on most of them; everything from being shot to being poisoned.
It was a common occurrence to be surrounded by men, and even women, who had served during WWII. My grandparent’s neighbor, a soft pudgy woman by the time I was born, had been a nurse in England. My church was full of men with limps, hearing aids, scars–internal and external.
This man was my ‘heart brother’ one year, a tradition the young women’s group I belonged to had of selecting an elderly person and surprising them with little tokens and cards on Sunday morning. It was important to remain anonymous until the Christmas reveal.
I bought him a book once, Dave Barry’s. I don’t recall which one, but he loved it, enjoying the humorous take the author had on life. It was in communicating this that he opened up for a brief moment about his ordeal in France.
I knew him to be a rather quiet man, as most are about the horrors of war. But what he experienced during that time held him captive to silence for more than two years. Severely wounded, grieving the loss of his twin brother, he could neither hear nor talk.
For a while it seemed he might never speak again. They were close to just writing him off as ‘catatonic.’
Reliving the hell of the surging water with the thunderous splashing of men headed into gunfire, mud and blood exploding together due to shots from the cliffs above them was nearly too much for him in his late seventies. I could tell by the glaze over his eyes he was returning to that French beach, June 6th.
But something he did, as did the others, and all of my relatives, was to wear the American Flag pins with pride. They knew their sacrifices had been for good–selfless devotion to the ideals of Freedom throughout the world. There was no gain for them–for us–except to know America had acted with honor.
It was a nearly impossible task. General Dwight D. Eisenhower–who would later become President–addressed its difficulty. Click here to hear the audio version of his address. The numbers are staggering: 5,000 ships, 13,00 aircraft, 9,000 killed, and a force of more than 100,000 marching into the theater of war across Europe.
There are very few of these brave men and women still among us. I am saddened by so many untold stories left to those shores, unfinished lives cut down in their beautiful youth. But I am honored by their sacrifices and the knowledge of what they accomplished there.
This is a new year for me. I am facing Mother’s Day without a mother.
My first thought was to ignore it altogether. But if you are within a thousand yards of television or any form of media, you know that is impossible.
So instead of sticking my head in the sand, I’ve looked around for a couple of mothers to admire. It wasn’t hard really. I found one on the front porch.
This mama works tirelessly to keep her babies fed and warm.
I found another at the pond. She had the aid of her mate, always ready to attack us, quick with a hiss. I didn’t even know geese hissed. I had heard plenty of honks, been nearly flogged, but hissing? Yep, they will do that too.
He normally stands guard behind her, watching in all directions. I love that about this pair of geese.
So my nod this year is toward Mother Nature and her precious wee ones who have to build their own houses and find their own food, while avoiding prey themselves.
Here’s a link which will take you to a showcase of the absolute most adorable babies and mamas in the animal kingdom. So adorable. Horses, bears, squirrels, tigers, buffalo, koalas, and more.
Do you have a special mother in nature you’ve been watching?
I don’t know about you, but I get hundreds of emails. And a lot of them just need to be deleted. I don’t even know how I ended up on their subscribers list.
And they clog up my inbox, even though it is a virtual space on a computer and/or telephone screen.
Most of the time I just go down the list and check their boxes before hitting the delete button. But why? Day after day I go through this.
So my spring cleaning chore is to clean up my computer.
It only takes a few seconds to go to the sites and unsubscribe. And it makes it so much easier to find the ‘real’ emails you want and need. For those who don’t know how to achieve this, the place for unsubscribing is normally at the bottom of the email and you can click on it. Another window will usually pop up asking if you’re sure, or why you have to leave them. And if you click on whatever the appropriate answer it, it will usually confirm your new unsubscribed status.
You can do this with facebook too. Do you have a lot of friends playing games? Are they continuously begging for farm animals and jewels. That’s great if you play too. But if you don’t, go to your settings and hit the button for no game notifications.
So long, Barilla and Gilt, we are breaking up. Farewell, Living Social Deals, I can’t possibly keep up with them all. Au revoir to all of the advertising sites sending out mass emails. I’m sweeping out the cobwebs and making room for the guests I really want to spend time with.
Are you spring cleaning? Does this include your cyber space?
I’m not a fan of the selfie. Lately they’ve been all the rage. There’s even a song dedicated to it.
But I’ve had a few moments when I couldn’t resist. Usually they involve more than just myself – friends, a place, a moment in time. So in celebration of the Selfie here is one of my favorites.
And here’s the link to The Chainsmokers version of “Let me Take a Selfie“! Enjoy and share your favorite selfie moment.
We’re being jerked around…by Mother Nature.
A couple of weeks ago we had around eighteen inches of snow.
Then the temperatures shot skyward; fifties, sixties, even seventies. Yay! We were all so happy, especially the wildlife. A few deer came out into the front yard and nibbled at whatever they could find from the evergreens to patches of grass.
“Under the giving snow, blossoms a daring spring.” – Terri Guillemets
My knee was improving and I was able to go outside and walk around the yard. I saw them then. The most welcomed sight as if God had sent me a ‘get well bouquet’ of crocuses.
“First a howling blizzard woke us,
Then the rain came down to soak us,
And now before the eye can focus —
Crocus.” ~Lilja Rogers
Yesterday it began to chill again, by noon it was freezing and soon we were being pelted by sleet and snow. My poor crocuses. I checked on them as soon as I got home from work. They were there, closed up against the cold and the blanket of snow.
March can be like that; unpredictable, cranky, tempestuous. I expect foul weather from November through February, but once I turn the calendar to March, anticipation takes over. I am no longer content to wear heavy layers of clothing and big boots.
Sunshine, blue skies, a few spring blossoms – is that too much to ask from March? Go away winter; I’m ready for spring.
Are you getting spring fever too? Have you been affected by the severe storms? Is Mother Nature having a temper tantrum in your backyard? What’s going on where you live?
It’s a running joke. The first mention of the slightest possibility of a snow flurry and people raid the grocery store shelves. There won’t be a loaf of bread or a jug of milk within twenty minutes of the prediction.
I am not laughing anymore. This must be our animal intuition.
Early yesterday morning my husband took extra hay and grain to the horses and filled the bird feeder. Snow had been predicted, coming in mid-to-late afternoon. He said one of our horses actually rolled in the grain.
And the squirrels jumped out of the tree limbs and assaulted the fresh supply of seeds.
It wasn’t long before the birds began to flock to it as well.
I watched as they bounced off and on, grabbing a bite before flying off to make room for another to swoop in. Then the snow began. Large flakes blew in sideways. It covered me as I sat with the door open, camera pointed at the feeder. A gorgeous cardinal had been popping on the backside of the feeder and since I couldn’t walk around the house, I had to just wait for him to position himself front and center.
His significant other waited patiently on him in the branches of the crepe myrtle.
Then she took a turn along with others.
I suppose you can tell by the pictures that we love our birds. They are well-fed and my son asked me if they were all pregnant since their bellies looked so big. I’m just glad to serve the role of food supplier to the wild kingdom.
Our doves mostly migrated a mile up the road where my son and husband planted a couple of corn fields. One didn’t produce enough to combine so he left it until recently and bush-hogged the entire field, leaving it for the deer, doves, and turkeys. They were practically following the tractor to get food, which made us feel good about our decision to just let it go and take the loss – (we didn’t have crop insurance, yikes!) There isn’t much in the forest for them to eat this time of year, and with the snow we’ve had – (it’s still snowing!) – I’m happy they’ve had a good source of food for the days building up to this wintery event.
You all know the other critter enjoying the snow – Miss Gretel.
Stay warm and well-fed throughout this blizzard! I’ll post more pictures when it stops snowing. Maybe I can talk hubby into taking the camera to the horse pasture and snapping a few of them running and playing. He’s stranded at the farm right now. Drifts have covered the road and the snow plows haven’t made it up the mountain yet.
So how is it where you are? Getting any snow or is it sunny and seventy?
Grief does things to you – to your mind, to your body, to your soul.
Some people talk these things through. After my mother died, I found it difficult to talk for the first time in my life.
I must have turned the pain inward and the result is a ‘sprained’ or ‘torn’ MCL and hamstring. There’s really no other explanation except the one we have been reaching for – one overcompensating for the other. I wasn’t even moving when the hamstring separated.
My sister and I had been working at Mother’s house every Saturday since she passed away. There were documents to find, bills to pay, accounts to cancel. We made a list of those things which had to be done during normal weekday hours and met after work when we had short days.
Last Saturday, after finally summoning the courage to take down her Christmas tree, I was standing at the kitchen bar in my mother’s house dividing pictures of my childhood with my sister.
“Here, you are holding her hand in this one. You should keep it.”
“And this one has Daddy crouched down, smiling at you as if he adored you more than anything in the world. You take that one.”
“This is Mother in her prom dress; and over there is the one in her cap and gown.”
The inside of my knee had been ‘sore’ for a while. I simply got a little elasticized knee brace and went on about my life. I knew it had been swelling from time to time because there were often the waffle-like imprints of the fabric on my knee when I took it off. Ibuprofen before bed and first thing in the morning seemed to ease it.
But on this day, it was really starting to throb.
“Why are we squinting in every picture?”
“They always made us face the sun!”
“And the old brownie camera…”
“Still intact with the flash…”
“Is in the treasures drawer.”
We were suddenly finishing each other’s sentences. The things we only had one of were being stored in a place we referred to as the ‘treasures drawer.’
Our plan was to get to that ‘drawer’ by afternoon. We would each get half of the treasures, which meant we would also be giving up half of them as well.
These aren’t the things you might imagine. There was nothing inside a thief would want. But they were bits and pieces of our childhood; family Bible, the clock radio which had belonged to our grandparents, the old Brownie camera, the surgical bowl and sutures removal set the doctor gave our father after his second painful surgery. You get the picture.
Priceless to us, valueless to others.
I pointed at a picture. “There’s Daddy and the bear!”
It was faded from all of the years it had hung on the wall. He must have made it face the sun as well, content to see the reflection of it across his brave face as he reached out to pet the wild bear during one of our many trips to the Smoky Mountains.
Pressure built for a second behind my knee and then it released, as if the entire muscular structure in the crease of the knee turned loose. It didn’t hurt at first. It took about a minute – maybe two – before the pain shot through my knee.
“I’ve got to sit down,” I said.
A few minutes later I reached for my purse and yanked out the brace, pulling it on. I followed it with some Ibuprofen and suggested we sit while we combed through recipe books.
We made piles and I kept forgetting which pile was mine and which needed going through. My leg throbbed, but we had so much to do.
The next morning my husband drove me to Urgent Care as soon as they opened. I left with crutches, leg stabilizer, anti-inflammatories, and a recommendation for orthopedic attention.
Medical professionals at every level kept asking how I had injured my knee. Did I fall? Did I feel it pop? Was there a noise when it ruptured?
It just turned loose. I knew no other way to explain it. I was standing at the bar, not even moving, and it turned loose, as though the tight muscular band around my knee lost all of its elastic.
Even my orthopedic specialist jokingly laughed, saying I needed a better story. You’d think I could come up with one wouldn’t you?
But I like this doctor. He has confidence in my ability to heal without surgery. He also has a few tricks up his sleeve, he said with a wink, should they become necessary.
On the bright side, my bone structure looks good – no arthritis and it is still stable. I’ve been prescribed rest. The old knee needs time to calm down; for the swelling to subside.
The heart needs time to heal as well. Maybe one will aid the other and I’ll come back on the other side of this as a whole person again.
Fingers crossed – but not ankles. That hurts my knee.