Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life
January 28, 2020

Broken pieces of memories

Broken pieces of memories
Gone forever
Or never there in the first place
Play hide and seek
Inside her tormented mind

Who am I?
Where am I?
What just happened
Or didn’t happen
And where is my mother?
Did she just try to call me
On the phone and you
Hung up on her?

You stand there
Looking at me as though
I should know you
Or remember something about you
That has disappeared
Forever

You say I had an accident
But I don’t remember it
And you don’t have any pictures
So I think you’re lying
Trying to insinuate your way
Into my life if not into
My worldly treasures of which I have
Precious few left

I’m so tired….
When will I wake up and
Remember?
Or better yet,
Never wake up at all….

Written in light of my youngest sister’s recent health emergency. This isn’t directly about her. It’s about our human fragility and how unexpected events might impact our sense of time, place and self-identity.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 January 2020
Image found at steelmit.com

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January 27, 2020

Blinded and distracted by rhetoric

Blinded and distracted by rhetoric
Vision dims for planet earth
Its seas and splendid birds of the air

Coral reefs and dying species
Beneath and above the seas
Unseen and neglected drown
In a growing swamp of rhetoric
And passion for one-issue politics
In which survival of a human fetus
Viable or unviable has become
The battle cry of policy driven
By the need to collect and nurture
Votes, favors and money

Meanwhile this earth and its seas
Birds of the air and coral reefs
Neighbors and strangers
Disappear before our eyes
And before their time
Unseen and neglected
In a growing swamp of self-righteousness
Nurtured by good intentions laced
With half truths and outright lies
Plus a primeval need to be right
And righteous no matter what
The cost to ourselves or others

No one ever promised life together would be easy.
Nonetheless, we can and must do better than this, together.
Not for our own survival, but for coming generations already endangered.

Prompted by a recent news item regarding evangelical Christian support for Donald Trump. Not every Christian who identifies as evangelical is in this boat. It is, however, a large, influential and enthusiastic boat. Kept afloat in large part due to Trump’s support for anti-abortion legislation and, in my view, his need for votes and affirmation.

No, I’m not a political commentator. I am, however, a commentator on what I see and what I think. Especially when it has to do with people and places I know and love, no matter which boat they’re in.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 January 2020
Image of Great Barrier Reef found at http://www.sciencemag.org

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January 25, 2020

dawn

a mirage shimmers
beckoning from eastern skies
through misty shadows
clouds of soft fleeting colors
float on water’s silent breath

Thanks to Tarryl Gabel for this evocative painting. It captures how I’m feeling today, even though rain is pouring down outside, and wind gusts are rolling in.

I’ve been feeling disoriented for several weeks. Also relatively helpless since I got the call on Christmas day about my youngest sister’s health emergency. I’ve already written about some of my internal struggles.

Today I’m moving on–doing what I can to stay connected with my sister in healthy ways, without leaving myself behind. Especially when it comes to writing and taking care of my own daily needs.

The painting above caught my eye this morning. It’s a lovely capture on canvas of how I’m feeling right now–enticed by possibilities for my life today and in the future, whatever is left for me.

Thanks for visiting!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 January 2020
Dawn of a New Day, by Tarryl Gabel, found at artworkarchive.com  

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January 23, 2020

yesterday’s fire

soaring gracefully
young slender aspens stand watch
around charred remains
anonymous yet precious
remnants of yesterday’s fire

***

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 23 January 2020
Image found at wallpaperweb.org
Cabin in a stand of Aspens, Gould, Colorado

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January 22, 2020

Habits of firstborns die hard

What is this burden
I can’t seem to lay down
Yet know I can’t carry
On these weary shoulders

Unknowns and what ifs
Flood my mind
Plus the nagging weight
Of being the eldest

A shadow cloud follows me
Day and night in one door
And out another
Searching for solace

And understanding
Not my thing you see
Especially now that
I’m older and should know

By heart how to carry
The weight of the world
Without a care or fleeting
Thought of rest or peace

Habits of firstborns die hard
Eternally peering back
Making sure we’re all here
Even when we are not

I don’t know if what I just wrote is true of all firstborns with siblings. I know it’s true of me.

I look back through old photos and see a sober, sometimes somber young woman with the face of a responsible first daughter. The lovely photo above, taken by my father in the 1950s is an exception to the rule. Nonetheless, being the responsible first daughter felt normal back then. Not quite, but almost my destiny.

My youngest sister is making slow, steady progress on her rehab issues. As for me, I’m getting plenty of practice being and feeling relatively helpless to be physically present with her. Which leaves open the possibility of learning, at this difficult time in her life, to be her creative cheerleader and long-distance friend. Right?

Thanks for your visit today, and Happy Wednesday to each of you!

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 22 January 2020
Photo of Sister #1 and me taken by JERenich on Easter Sunday, mid 1950s, Savannah, Georgia

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January 19, 2020

What we have lost

The Big Girl in me
Got lost somewhere
Hiding in a closet
Ruminating on her
Most recently acquired
Impotence

How do we
Make our mark
On life that wants
To run ahead of us
Eager to get home and
Resume things as though
Nothing happened at all
Or if it did it wasn’t
That bad was it?

A thousand voices
Scramble my weary brain
Already cluttered with
What cannot be known while
What ifs accumulate —
Fake time and fake money
Thrown after dreams
Of what may never be

The clock moves in one direction
Steadily relentlessly counting down
To the last moment of last breath
And the sudden shock of what
We will have lost
All of us

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 19 January 2020
Image found at rubylane.com
Hand-painted Wood Face of 1810-20 Pennsylvania Grandfather Clock

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January 18, 2020

No Coward Soul Is Mine | Emily Brontë

This poem from Emily Brontë resonates more each time I read it. Here we have a woman of great intellect who daily faced the male-dominance of her generation. Not that things have changed that much. In fact, because dominance can be rather polite these days, it can also be more difficult to maintain a clear female voice.

Dominance doesn’t mean domination. Rather, it’s an invitation to step up to and into full humanity, in full voice, with full right to my own open and informed outlook on things theological.

Saying this is easier than living it. In addition, I don’t know all the ins and outs of Emily’s life. I do, however, know this poem grows more powerful for me every time I read it.

One note on Emily’s use, in the third stanza, of a male pronoun. I suggest this was intentional, given the overall theme of the poem, and her life as the daughter of a clergyman.

No Coward Soul Is Mine

No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven’s glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear

God within my breast
Almighty ever-present Deity
Life, that in me has rest
As I Undying Life, have power in thee

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain,
Worthless as withered weeds
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thy infinity
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality

With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

Though Earth and moon were gone
And suns and universes ceased to be
And thou were left alone
Every Existence would exist in thee

There is not room for Death
Nor atom that his might could render void
Since thou are Being and Breath
And what thou art may never be destroyed

From selected poems of Emily Brontë, pp. 40-41
Published in Everyman’s Library by Alfred A. Knopf, 1996
© 1996 by David Campbell Publishers Ltd., sixth printing

Praying for each of you a spirit-animated Sabbath rest, and vision as immense as Emily’s “Almighty, ever present Deity.”

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 January 2020
Image found at wikipedia.org; from a portrait of all three sisters, painted by their brother Bramwell

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January 17, 2020

Lulled by promises

Cold air rushes into the void gasping
Shaking rafters and startling trees
Grown soft in mild winter sunshine

Radiators crackle and pop
Kitty curls into a ball of white fur
Humidifiers bubble and sigh
Cars rush by with home on their minds

How cruel to be lulled by promises
Whispered yesterday beneath a balmy sky

No major winter warnings. Just a run of bitter cold weather this coming week. Maybe a bit of snow.

OK. I can’t help myself. Fake weather. That’s what it is! Don’t believe a thing you see, hear or feel. It’s a warm, sunny, beautiful day! Enjoy! 🙂

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 January 2020
Photo of Smudge hibernating taken by DAFraser, Winter 2014

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January 16, 2020

When aspens sing

When aspens sing
Hearts dance
And skip a beat
Rejoicing

A young deer
Peers through trunks
Upright
Gleaming

Quaking leaves
Tremble in harmony
Golden tones
Rustling

Feeling my way along
I peer down a fork in the road
Considering my options
Renewed

Changing of the year? Maybe.

The young deer reminds me of Aslan quietly appearing in the forest. How willing am I to follow the lead of a young deer, or an older lion? The magnitude of choices offered each day is overwhelming.

I want to make it through the forest this year. If not unscathed, then stronger than I was at the beginning. Grateful for eyes in the forest watching over me, traveling with me no matter which fork I take.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 January 2020
Photo of mule deer found at pinterest.com

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January 14, 2020

Survivor guilt and the business at hand

Back row: Mother, Grandpa Gury (her father), Elouise, and Sister #2
Front row: Diane and Sister #4

As of today, three kinds of survivor guilt have invaded my life.

  1. The guilt of living longer than Diane, Sister #3. She died of ALS in 2006.
  2. The guilt of wishing my father had died before my mother. She died in 1999, 78 years old.
  3. The guilt of wishing my father had died instead of Sister #4’s husband. He died in 2008; my father died in 2010.

And then there are nagging realities from my past.

  1. In 1960, I got a job right out of high school. It paid more than my father was making at a weekday job. My mother told me not to talk about the size of my weekly paycheck. Then my father lost his weekday job and I felt awkward talking about what happened at work today.
  2. When I left home for college (1960, age 16), my younger sisters had to face the music at home without me. Sometimes that was for the better. But not always. They became more vulnerable to our father’s oversight and disciplinary methods. This weighed heavily on me, especially with regard to our youngest sister.
  3. My educational and workplace opportunities gave me an advantage when I was looking for a teaching position, right out of university.

I can’t change any of this. Yet each item above has surfaced more than once in light of my youngest sister’s current health crisis. It began on Christmas Eve.

So what’s going on? I know it’s important because I’ve become self-conscious about my current situation. Yes, I have health challenges. Sometimes I don’t manage them well. Still, they aren’t as difficult to navigate as challenges Diane or Sister #4 experienced.

Am I overthinking this? Part of me wants to believe I am, even though that would be nonsense.

Today I want to know how to be present and fully focused on the business on hand. Not on what might have been, or ten reasons I should have had something awful happen to me years ago. As though that might spare any of my sisters or my mother the horror of sudden interventions that leave all of us gasping for air.

Thanks again for listening. As of today, I’m happy to report that Sister #4 is in a rehab facility, beginning a long  journey.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 January 2020
Family Photo taken by JERenich in Savannah, 1959

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