Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Daily Prompt

June 28, 2017

Sunny Day Photos at Longwood

Yesterday was spectacular, so we took off after lunch for an afternoon at Longwood Gardens. The newly renovated Italian Water Garden opened several weeks ago. Besides that, we hadn’t seen other areas of Longwood this season. Here’s a teeny tiny taste, with more to follow in a later post.

The eye of water at the top has been dry as a bone while renovation of the Water Garden was under way. It’s always a cool shady refuge. Quiet, with benches all around, and the sound of water spilling over into a creek rushing down to a waterfall that drops from the bell tower to a pool below.

We crossed the creek and walked by towering trees to the bell tower.
The giant trunk below is a dawn redwood.


Just beyond the bell tower above you can see stairs going
down from the Conservatory into the new Italian Water Garden.
The photo below was taken from the Bell Tower–
our first peek at the Water Garden from a distance.


Now we’re headed downhill from the Bell Tower to ground level.
On the way, we go through a shady wooded area.


Here we are at ground level behind the main fountains.
We’re going to go up the stairs for a close-up view of the main show!.
Note the small water fountain in the courtyard,
and the elevator tower just left of the stairway.


It’s 3:00 in the afternoon, time for water music and a brief water show.
Here are a few more photos taken from the viewing platform.
First, directly below us, looking toward the Conservatory.
Second, a look back at the Bell Tower.
Finally, I think the gentleman with the keys is checking out
music/water display coordination.



Stay tuned for more Longwood photos!

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 June 2017
Photos taken by DAFraser, 27 June 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Sunny

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June 27, 2017

Wheels within Wheels or…

Why I have hope for my children and grandchildren.

I know. It sounds presumptuous. The world seems to be going to you-know-where in a handbasket. Whatever that means. I think that means going downhill fast. Possibly exploding into smithereens at the bottom.

I’m no Doubter. I fully accept the reality of climate change and, in particular, the reality of our abysmal human contribution thereto. Yet we seem honor-bound to look the other way, or helpless in the face of measurable warning signs.

Nor am I a Pollyanna, as we used to say way back when. I don’t wake up, see the sky falling and smile cheerfully, whistle a happy tune, or go about my business in denial. Everything isn’t chirpy, cheery or going to be all right.

I’m a pragmatic, realistic, down-to-earth woman who also happens to be intuitive, imaginative and energized by a challenge. I’m also a woman of faith, though I don’t expect God or a Higher Power to swoop down and rescue us at the last minute.

Life—past, present and future—is complex. Wheels within wheels spiral up, down, in, out, all around. In no way capable of being fathomed,  controlled or predicted.

I’ve seen yesterday’s disasters lead to today’s unpredicted miracles. And vice versa. Not because they were good or evil in themselves, but because they contained within them the possibilities for both good and ill.

Wheels within wheels are already turning this way and that, moving in directions we may never experience in our lifetimes. The future is unknown. And yet…the unknown already contains the seeds of tomorrow’s brilliant solutions and horrifying disasters.

I live in a world my grandparents and my parents didn’t expect. We haven’t self-destructed. Nor are we heaven on earth. We’re still made up of wheels within wheels, finding ever-new ways to accomplish good and evil.

I can’t guarantee things will turn out well for those I most love. Nonetheless, I have faith in our Creator who offers multiple opportunities to exploit wheels within wheels for good, not for ill. I also support and applaud human creativity that turns complexity into brilliant, often simple solutions that turn out right.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 June 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Wheel

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June 26, 2017

The Wind took up the Northern Things

Winds of change overtake us every day. Natural and unnatural disasters intrude. Emily Dickinson invites us to take a closer look. My comments follow.

The Wind took up the Northern Things
And piled them in the south –
Then gave the East unto the West
And opening his mouth

The four Divisions of the Earth
Did make as to devour
While everything to corners slunk
Behind the awful power –

The Wind – unto his Chambers went
And nature ventured out –
Her subjects scattered into place
Her systems ranged about

Again the smoke from Dwellings rose
The Day abroad was heard –
How intimate, a Tempest past
The Transport of the Bird –

c. 1868

Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995

The calm before a storm is nothing compared to the calm after a storm. Wind, dust, earthquakes, locusts, famine, fire, floods. Devastating, destructive, unpredictable. Then it’s over. Deadly silent. Until nature ventures out, surveys the damage and begins reclaiming her rhythms, colors, textures and stunning beauty.

There’s nothing romantic about the destructive forces of nature. No one who has survived their fury can forget the terror. Or the people, animals, natural resources and futures gone or changed forever.

Nonetheless, I hear Emily inviting us to consider the other side of the storm. What happens following unpredictable upheaval? What happens when everything is different and nothing can be taken for granted?

Healing and rebirth don’t happen overnight. Nature will take its time just as it always has. We can count on her subjects and systems doing their thing, even though everything will be different, changed in some way.

As for us, life changes immediately in the aftermath of major upheaval. Belongings and people we took for granted or undervalued yesterday are suddenly precious. Whether missing or found against all odds, each person and each item becomes the subject of conversation, tears and thoughts shared around fireplaces. Personal and intimate.

This everyday hearth fire, unlike a firestorm, warms our hearts. We’re not alone. A bird sings. Was it blown here by the storm? I don’t know. Still, its simple song says I’m not forgotten, even though my small world just got turned upside down.

I hear in Emily’s poem an invitation to think about the value of human life as well as the value of our planet. Both seem under siege right now. Not just by politicians or corporations, but by people such as you and I. I don’t have answers. I do, however, have hope that we’ll wake up before it’s too late.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 June 2017
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June 23, 2017

Hemming and hawing

Hemming and hawing
Their way through the muck
Fearful of committing truth
Eager for voters’ approval
They flounder

Political correctness
Blinds leaders to the truth
Of their deepest commitments
Creates wormholes
In character

Yesterday’s principles
Become today’s mush
Flavor of the moment
Quickly thrown together
Cold and tasteless

***

There isn’t a leader alive who isn’t tempted to hem and haw. Fear of committing truth seems to have become an epidemic.

The fear is well founded. The cost of being drummed out, forced out, scapegoated, fired, sued or made a target of revenge is very high. Ask any leader who has paid the price.

Leaders willing to go against expectations of their parties or constituencies seem to be a dying breed. They deserve our respect and our thanks. Whether we agree with them or not.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 23 June 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Commit

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June 22, 2017

paper-thin wings

paper-thin wings
of spun silk gleam
atop purple-crowned thistle

***

I’m captivated by this ephemeral moment caught in the blink of a camera. Nature’s grandeur arrives in a heart-beat and departs in a heart-beat. Not once or twice, but uncounted times over.

Often in times of desperation or dismay, nature spills over on our behalf. Free of charge. All we need are eyes to see. Especially the small things we might not notice.

Life has a paper-thin quality. It doesn’t last forever. Not even in the most substantial tomes, libraries, decrees or declarations.

Yet we pass through each day surrounded by reminders of continuity and grandeur far beyond our making. Spinning out our personal histories in the brief moments  of our seasonal lives. Trusting in whispers of something and Someone greater than ourselves.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 22 June 2017
Photo found at Pixabay.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Paper

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June 20, 2017

Kickback

Molasses
oozes
through
my veins

Sluggishness
creeps
from head
to toe
smothering
every desire
to move

Thoughts
of despair
meddle
with my sanity
laugh
at my dreams
mock
and taunt me

Doesn’t everyone
have a down day
now and again?

I’ve had stretch of good days. Very good days, in fact. The Meddler isn’t happy about this. She doesn’t like being ignored.

Well, it isn’t going to happen. Today I’m weary from the daily grind of creating health-inducing smoothies, making sure I have the right vegetables and fruit for smoothies, chopping them up for smoothies, and cleaning up my smoothie blender so it’s ready for the next round.

The Meddler keeps trying to remind me of cat-fur bunnies multiplying by the hour, decisions waiting to be made, and closets screaming to be changed out for hot weather.

I’ve decided to chill out for the rest of this day.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 June 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Meddle

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June 19, 2017

My Voice and My Dad


When I began blogging over three years ago I was terrified. I’d carried family secrets around with me for nearly 70 years. My Dad died in 2010. Over ten years before he died I confronted him about his harsh treatment of me as a child and teenager.

Yet I still had things I needed to say, in writing. Publicly. To him and to anyone else who cared to listen.

Here’s an excerpt from a post I published on 27 January 2015. That was one year after I began blogging, nearly 5 years after Dad died at age 96. I’d begun posting Dear Dad letters from time to time, even though it felt awkward.

I’m surprised at feelings I’ve had since I began writing Dear Dad letters. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m trying to get something from Dad that he can’t give me. I don’t think I am. I definitely feel I’m ‘out there,’ in the driver’s seat without a finished roadmap, uncertain where this will lead.

Most surprising, though, has been a sense of relief. Not because I know what I’m doing, but because I know I need something for myself. Something I can receive only by speaking to him about the very subject he wasn’t always interested in hearing about—me, his first-born child, female. . . .

These Dear Dad letters feel right because I’m my father’s daughter. I’m not asking for anything. I’m not expecting anything from him. Simply put, I need to be present to Dad in a way I’ve never been present to him before.

I’d describe it as barging right in and announcing my presence. Not rudely, but confidently. Interrupting Dad was a big no-no when I was a child. Knock before entering; enter only if permission is granted. Dad is very busy right now in his study. Don’t disturb unless absolutely necessary!

But he’s my Dad! I’m allowed! No explanations needed. No big crisis. No requests to make things better. No great accomplishments or failings to report. And no clear strategy or plan about why I’m here just now, why he’s the one with whom I need to speak, or what I’m going to say next. I just know I need to be here.

This strikes me now as it did then—the language of a mature, responsible adult woman. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now what Dad would think of this.

After all, he’s my Dad and I’m entitled to be with him and say things to him at any time. Whether he’s living or not.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 June 2017
Image found at skitguys.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Relieved

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June 17, 2017

blossoming like a rose

Today’s prompt brought back an anthem from my college choir days. It’s been playing through my head all day–one of the most beautiful anthems I’ve ever heard.

The lyrics are based on Isaiah 35, a poetic passage that foresees a time to come when all will be well for the blind, deaf, weak and weary. For all who are discouraged, afraid and convinced they’ve been forgotten. Holiness will reign and injustice will be a thing of the past.

And what about this earth? It will also change in ways we can’t imagine. The opening lines of the anthem set the tone. From my memory…

The wilderness and the solitary place shall rejoice,
And the desert will be glad, and blossom like a rose.
For in the wilderness shall water break forth,
And streams flow in the desert.

This is Isaiah’s poetic vision of coming peace with justice. To some it may seem naïve or even make-believe. Yet doesn’t each of us harbor a wish, if not a vision for a better tomorrow?

The account of creation, the fall, and the resulting impact on all generations can sound heavy if not heavy-handed. Nonetheless, the God described throughout Hebrew and Christian Scriptures never gives up. Over and over opportunities are offered for turning around and taking another path. One that leads to justice with peace.

The God who created us is angered by injustice, moved by the plight of those who pay dearly for the decisions of others, including rulers of all kinds. Some leaders work with every intention of doing what’s best for everyone. Others seem intent on doing what’s best for themselves and their own, not for the people they serve or for strangers within their gates.

A beautiful anthem doesn’t solve our problems. It does, however, remind me that our leaders are not God, no matter how committed they are to doing good, and no matter how much we the people may want them to be God.

The anthem also reminds me that I’m not God and you’re not God. No matter how good or right we think we are, we can’t ensure that all will one day be transformed, much less pull it off.

I can, however, take one precarious step forward at a time, and trust God to do right, as the only Judge of all the earth.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 June 2017
Photo found at emeralddesert.com – Desert Bloom in Palm Springs, California
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Blossom

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June 16, 2017

A word is dead

Another short gem from Emily Dickinson, for children of all ages and all stations in life. My free verse response follows.

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

Emily Dickinson: Poetry for Young People
Edited by Frances Schoonmaker Bolin
Illustrated by Chi Chung
Sterling Publishing Co., 1994

Words spoken
thought
given away
on faces
in body language
live and multiply—
shaping us
shaping them
into people
we are
or are not
together

Spoken words
birth attitudes
expectations
hope and despair
inextricably linked
in this short life

Not the answer
to our wildest dreams

Not a solution
for the world’s woes
or private sorrows

But like smiles—
small change
of treasure
received
or withheld

***

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 June 2017
Image found at twimg.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Create

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June 13, 2017

Diminishing time, and yet…

I recently confessed, to my surprise, that I now want live to be 100 years old.

So what will I do between now and then? What’s my measurable goal, and how will I know I’m making progress? Or when enough is enough already!

Early Sunday morning I had this dream just before I woke up.

I’m somewhere away from home, with a group of interesting people who seem to have items they’re displaying in a large room. The hall is full but not crowded. The people themselves are interesting, and the items are all different.

I encourage a few visitors to walk around and look at the creative articles on display. There are women and men in the room. Artist types, but not selling their items so far as I can see. They’re just sharing them in this large hall for people to look at. I see several I want to visit. However, it’s late, and I know I need to be on my way.

In the next scene I’m driving my car. I have no passengers, and am on my way home via what looks similar to an interstate highway. I’m on an entrance ramp. There aren’t any signals or signs, but I know where I’m going. I pull onto the highway, into the traffic.

This dream got me wondering what I might display as one of the interesting artist types. After 3 ½ years of blogging, I have over 900 posts and 900 followers! I can scarcely believe it. I love blogging and have no intention of giving it up. It also seems a good time to reconsider my goal for all this writing. Especially if I want to display at least some of it.

The dream also got me wondering where I’m going on the highway. Home, yes. But where is home? I’m clearly in control, in the driver’s seat. No one else is with me, and I’m feeling happy, relaxed and expectant. The highway isn’t formal like an interstate or state highway. Yet it’s spacious, inviting, and busy without being crowded. It feels a bit rustic. It isn’t a ‘polished’ highway, but a well-kept road somewhere out in the country.

Here’s where I find myself today:

  • I have diminishing time on this earth.
  • I’m not looking for fame and fortune.
  • I want a concrete project that brings me joy and puts some of my writing into a user-friendly form.
  • I want to begin now with small steps in a direction—perhaps setting aside writing time each week to identify and collect a specified number of posts with potential.

Beyond that, I have no clue where this might go. I do know, however, that without a Big Hairy Goal and measurable steps in a direction, I’ll think this one over to its grave and mine!

Thoughts? Comments? Experiences of your own? I welcome each and every one! Always.

Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 13 June 2017
Photo found at montanarue.com
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