Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life
September 19, 2017

Is this a poem?

I’m not sure.
But this is what happened
just as I was wondering
whether I have a life….

Taking the long walk this evening
we turned left at the intersection
and headed downhill around a curve.

The narrow road stretches between houses
silent with stately lawns that lounge
before, around and behind them—
beautifully landscaped and green.

Well-kept trees rustle in cool downdrafts
from the sky overcast and heavy with
misty air and the still-warm remains of this day.

We come up over a slight rise
and see her—a doe standing downhill
frozen at full attention on the road–
tentative and alert as if to inquire
after our intentions or take our measure.

Behind us, a car approaches in the distance.

In a flash the doe bounds into the bushes
turns and looks back across the road–
waiting.

A second doe leaps across the road,
then turns to look back expectantly.

After a long pause a fawn stumbles noisily
across the road followed by a second fawn
and then silence as the little family dashes
into the trees and shrubs with their
white tails flashing….

I’m pretty sure I have a life.
It’s just that many days it isn’t as planned.
Predictability has flown into the woods
and left me playing life by ear.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 19 September 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Tentative

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September 18, 2017

Monday Morning after Margie

Bent on a mission from God
Not derailed by frivolous sidetrips
One painful step at a time
Thoughtfully paced and ordered
You showed up at God’s doorstep
Right on time

Too early for me and for your friends
Left gaping at the huge sinkhole
In our hearts and in that pew
where you were not sitting yesterday
Our breath sucked into silence
at the news of your death
I will not call glorious

In memory of a friend, one of the Angels in my life. She died Saturday afternoon.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 September 2017
Photo taken by DAFraser, Longwood Gardens, Sept 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Glorious

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September 16, 2017

Who has not found the Heaven — below —

Wouldn’t you love to find heaven on earth? If so, Emily Dickinson’s little poem offers food for thought. My comments follow.

Who has not found the Heaven – below –
Will fail of it above –
For Angels rent the House next ours,
Wherever we remove –

Emily Dickinson, Poem #1543
Found on Wikisource.org

When I went looking for this poem, I found a second version. One of the pitfalls of having poems published is dealing with editors who think they have a better way of saying things. In general, Emily’s cryptic, almost abrupt speech and layout betrays her hand.

Just for comparison, here’s the edited version that’s out there. All cleaned up and, from my perspective, changed in its meaning.

Who has not found the heaven below
Will fail of it above.
God’s residence is next to mine,
His furniture is love.

Found in Emily Dickinson, Collected Poems, published by Courage Books 1991

Sweet, but not what Emily wrote.

In the poem at the top, Emily says the key to finding Heaven lies with us, not with God or even with Angels. Not because they don’t exist, but because it all depends on our ability to recognize them. Not high above this earth, but right beside us, no matter where we are.

Emily suggests that each of our neighbors has the capacity to point us toward Heaven. It isn’t because they have deep theological insights, or preach sermons or make statements about heaven. Nor is it because they’re perfect, glow in the dark, or have wings and shining robes.

Rather, it’s because from time to time they bring a bit of heaven into our lives. Just when we most need it. It doesn’t matter what they believe or don’t believe about angels. What matters is that they bring a bit of heaven into our lives. Just when we most need it, even though we don’t always like to admit we’re needy.

This little poem seems to put us on notice. Emily isn’t asking us to become Angels. She’s asking us to keep our eyes open for Angels. They may show up on our doorsteps when we least expect them. Not from Heaven, but from “the House next to ours.”

This life offers preparation for something beyond our current sight. Not doctrinal proof of Heaven or of Angels. Rather, a whisper, a suggestion, a hint of reality that visits us from time to time. Especially when we’re in need, whether we realize it or not.

Sometimes it isn’t easy to accept help from Angels who aren’t wearing brilliant robes or sprouting wings from their shoulders. They might look like the people next door, or just around the corner, or standing next to us in the checkout line at the grocery store. We may have decided they couldn’t possibly be angels.

Yet there they are, momentary messengers from God who let us know we’re not alone. With their words and deeds they show us a bit of what Heaven looks like on this earth. All so that we’ll recognize it “above.”

Have you been visited lately by an Angel?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 September 2017
Painting: Granville Redmond (1871-1935), A Sunset Sacrament
Found at parabola-magazine-tumblr.com

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September 16, 2017

Dear Mom | Missing You

Last night as I slept, one of my followers visited this Mother’s Day post from May 2015 and left a like. It includes several of D’s gorgeous photos from Longwood Gardens. To my surprise, it cheered me up this morning, though the subject matter is a bit heavy. I hope you also enjoy it. Elouise

Elouise's avatarTelling the Truth

P1050693

Dear Mom,
I’m sitting here trying to put together a really nice letter for Mother’s Day. So far I’m getting nowhere. It isn’t because I don’t have ideas. It’s because I’m feeling a little lost today, and my ideas seem to be falling flat on their faces.

Last week was sad. Sister #2’s husband died, leaving us all gaping at the huge hole this left in our family. Sort of like the huge hole left when you died. Like yours, his death was relatively peaceful. Though he was in pain, his caregivers found a way to manage it so that his children and his nine grandchildren could be with him and Sister #2 when he died.

Some deaths are difficult. I’ve been reading a small book by Henri Nouwen called In Memoriam. It’s about his mother’s death. He talks about how many deaths he witnessed as a priest. Most were peaceful; some were…

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September 15, 2017

before the sun goes down

unexpected tears sting my eyes
as I walk through the churchyard
my spirit inhales the bittersweet taste of home
beneath this sanctuary of towering trees
standing watch over silent gravestones

parents hurry past me
toward the grade school open house
across the street
oblivious to the invitation to stop
and rest a while before the sun goes down

yesterday evening, on my way home

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 September 2017
Photo taken by DAFraser from our home, November 2014
Daily Prompt: Finite

7 Comments
September 14, 2017

Thorny Matters and a Happy Update | Photos

Maybe I’m crazy to put these two things together, but they are what they are! In a nutshell, it’s all about Longwood Gardens and what’s happening these days.

Yes, we celebrated our 52nd wedding anniversary at Longwood Gardens! See D’s gorgeous shot above? Evidence that thorny isn’t always ugly. Even though marriage is sometimes like picking a rose and getting the thorns.

Then there are those flowers you just have to wonder about. Why there? And what’s all that fluffy stuff? I don’t have a clue. Do you?

It feels like I’ve been thinking forever about putting some of my favorite blog posts into an ebook or something like that. Sometimes I feel like a snail that isn’t going anywhere. But here’s evidence that if I wait long enough, the beauty, form and shape might suddenly come clear–in a burst of sunlight in the late afternoon. Yes, it’s a Mexican Century Plant. Can you see the beautiful patterns on the back of the sword-leaves?

On another bright note, sometime over the last weekend, I passed two markers: 1000 posts and 1000 followers! I’ve decided that calls for at least two more walks in the meadow. One right here with you so I can show off more of D’s gorgeous photos from Monday’s visit, and another visit to Longwood before we lose this early fall weather. Here’s the only thorny thistle photo I could find from Monday’s meadow walk.

And here are a few last thorny/spiny beauties from inside the Conservatory.

With many thanks for your visits, likes and dislikes, comments, questions and generosity of time. I never guessed I’d love writing so much. Weird, because as an academic I’ve written all my life. But never like this–from my heart to your hearts, as truthfully as I’m able.

Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 September 2017
Photos taken by DAFraser at Longwood Gardens, 11 September 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Thorny

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September 13, 2017

Old photos never die

They just fade away….

One moment captured forever
silent witness to hopes and dreams
never realized

This is my parents’ formal wedding portrait taken 75 years ago today, 13 September 1942 in Charlotte, North Carolina.

shattered lives
fall apart unplanned
two people bound to each other

I often wonder how my parents felt when they looked back at this lovely photo. They look happy, wealthy (they were not), supremely ready for whatever came next (they were not).

Within months, my father was diagnosed with tuberculosis and put into a sanatorium full of other TB patients. If he wanted to get well, he had to remain bed-bound for months, visitors strictly limited and regulated. If he didn’t keep the rules, all bets were off. His roommate couldn’t take the pressure of lying there. He died of TB. My father took a lesson from him and lay there, resolved.

In the meantime, I was born in November 1943, several months after my father went off to live in the sanatorium. He came home when I was 10 months old. A stranger to me, as I was to him. I was not the son he wanted.

My mother walked to the hospital when she went into labor, and then cared for me with the help of a family in the portrait above. We were living in their house at that time. The Hancox family included Mom’s maid of honor (“Aunt” Wyn), her flower girl (Wyn’s only child), and the man who gave Mom away, “Uncle” Ed. He’s standing just behind Mom and Aunt Wyn.

My maternal grandfather did not approve of this marriage and chose not to attend. He lived in California. I don’t remember the name of the man who served as my father’s best man.

My parents married with the blessing of a mission agency that would, if all went well, send them to Africa. While out speaking on behalf of this agency, my father came down with TB, which put in jeopardy the great plan to go to Africa. Five years and three babies later, my mother contracted polio–most likely from our new sister who was only 6 months old.

That was the end of being missionaries. I don’t think it was the end of mother’s world. She had her hands full.

It was, however, the end of my father’s hope of being somebody who mattered, especially in the church. He grieved this missed opportunity all his life. Which isn’t to say he would have made an outstanding missionary.

My mother, a polio survivor, musician and committed extrovert, did her best to care for four daughters in near-poverty circumstances. When it came to talking about regrets, she would have none of it, even though she lived with constant physical pain.

I love looking at the photo above. It shows my parents at their best. Looking out, as we all do, on what we hope will be a bright tomorrow. I’m grateful to have this marker of their happiness.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 13 September 2017
My Parents’ formal wedding portrait, 13 September 1942
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Penchant

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September 12, 2017

We never know how high we are

Dear Emily,
I have one small suggestion to make about your poem below. Please add ‘or queen’ to your last line. Just in case that’s not possible, I’m going to do it for you every time I read it. You’ll find my comments below your lovely poem.
Respectfully,
Elouise

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies –

The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king –

Poem #1176, written about 1870
Found on Poets.org

Dear Friend of this World,
I’m sending you this little poem today from Emily Dickinson. Maybe you never heard of her. I think she was a bit shy and bashful. You know, like many of us who don’t want to become a public ‘thing,’ even though we do enjoy being noticed and appreciated.

I think that deep down, Emily wanted us to know about her little poem. Or at least to notice it. So please read it over, and over again. Once is good, five times is better.

Do you know how important your words and deeds are? Perhaps you’re tempted to water them down by over-thinking. Or you get stuck in fear. Especially fear of failure, or fear of going against expectations–your own or those of others. I do.

Sometimes I wonder whether Emily understood her own queenly power.

If you have any doubt about yourself, look and listen to what you already do every day. Just getting up in the morning is a big deal. Or smiling and offering to help a friend or stranger. Or doing what you know will honor your body and spirit or someone else’s.

The way I see it, God gave us our selves, each other, and this world with its unnumbered inhabitants as our earthly home. We’re the only caretakers God has on this earth. We’re a big deal, individually and together.

In fact, God loves nothing more than watching us step up to our full kingly and queenly stature. Especially despite our worst fears, and without expectation of payment, reward or even a ‘thank you.’ Sometimes it takes an emergency to jumpstart our royal blood. But we don’t want to wait for that, do we?

Thank you most kindly for visiting and reading.
Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 12 September 2017
Image found at pinterest
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Disobey

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September 9, 2017

Considering Loss on the Eve of Our Wedding Anniversary

Wedding Day, 11 September 1965
11 September 1965

Fear of loneliness
Drifts in and out unbidden

Heavy eyelids droop
Head hangs low over keyboard

Tangled thoughts intrude
Try to distract me as though
I were the intruder

I am not.

Pulling myself together
I rouse myself to the occasion
Reaching for stars and light
I do not own.

What if he dies first?
What if I die first?

I don’t know.

So what do I know?
Only this –
That if he dies first, I will grieve.

And what will be the shape of that grief?
A hole that stretches from here to eternity
An unreachable planet long ago and faraway
A place I can no longer visit
An ocean of heaving sobs
Seaweeds of bitter regret and sweet longing
Washing up on the shore of each long day and night

On Monday David and I will celebrate our 52nd wedding anniversary. I thought I knew a thing or two about love the day we married. I did not. Nor will I know all about love the day one of us dies.

The older I get, the more precious each day becomes. I remember dreading retirement. Not simply because I would miss my colleagues and students, but because I would be spending much more time with D. More than I’d spent with him most of our married life.

Could we live with each other in the same house, including the same kitchen, every day? Would we get bored out of our gourds without deadlines and meetings and endless reports? Would one of us decide to find a part-time job just to get away from it all?

Happily, we’ve survived so far, including Kitchen Wars. But that would be another story.

I’ve had death on my mind in the last weeks, given events here and around the world. Death is about more than statistics, more than a moving memorial service, more than a huge display of candles and flowers. More than a gut-wrenching news story of the moment.

Somewhere, each moment of every day, someone is grieving. I want to honor the value of just one person’s life and the value of grief. The kind that can soften us, making us more human than we were before.

It looks like Monday, our anniversary day, will be a beautiful Longwood Garden day. Maybe another walk in the Meadow? We’ll see.

Thanks for reading!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 September 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Overcome

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September 8, 2017

We don’t marry disaster

We don’t marry disaster
It marries us
Unrelenting drought
Genocidal ethnic cleansing
Polio and opioid epidemics
Avalanches of pain and anguish
Wild fires breathing fury
Hurricanes and floods of destruction
Nature’s fury turned inward
Human fury turned outward
Multiplied exponentially

See the pictures in my scrapbook?
Like pages of a newspaper
Good news one day
Disaster the next
See that man who’s smiling?
That beautiful woman over there?
Those precious children looking your way?
The young people who think no one is looking?
There they were just yesterday
And now…..

What’s to become of us?
The ‘us’ that doesn’t exist anymore
Families torn apart
Friends for life now foes forever
Enemies within and without
In whom do we trust?
In whom do we place our hope?
False saviors arise from glowing ashes
Snake oil dealers hawk their sleazy wares

I get up in the morning
And look outside, up toward the heavens
Where the bright face of a newly waning moon
Reflects the light of a new day just dawning.
Two birds swoop silently together into an oak tree
High overhead a silver airplane leaves a misty trail
Fluffy clouds drift beneath a deep blue sky
Signs of hope and reason enough to get up
And live yet another day in my small corner
Of this world filled with small people,
Large hearts and infectious smiles.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 September 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompts: Finite; Crescendo

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