Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Grace

clear night air and moonlight

How much longer do we have
On this earth disappearing
Daily into a pit of promotional
Hype and unachievable goals

Besides which there is this–
The bottomless pit is gasping
Spewing junk into air heavy
With the weight of our denial

Perhaps we can agree on this:
We have a problem that isn’t
Going to dissolve like a sunset
Into clear night air and moonlight

I don’t have a clue where this came from. Best guess: from listening to statements about the way this or that disruption of nature will lead to a bright tomorrow. Especially for corporations and individuals playing winner take all.

Yes, I’m sure it’s more complicated than that. If I sound a bit cynical, so be it. Given my generous life span, I’ve seen and heard enough to feel anything but sad about the current state of our denial.

Do I have hope? Yes. Not necessarily for our planet, but for everyday people who inhabit it with grace, with interest in strangers and neighbors alike, and eyes still in awe of clear night air and moonlight.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 February 2020
Photo found at

“Cherish is the word I use….”

Cherish image, happy_married_couple

I, Elouise, take you, D….
To love, honor and cherish….

Cherish is the word I use
To complain as in
You don’t have a clue
How to cherish me Read the rest of this entry »

When thou art far away | From an Old Soul

When are you most alive? That’s the puzzle George MacDonald is chewing on in today’s sonnet. His answer is unexpected. Read the rest of this entry »

A Toast to Mom

My Number One Surprise this past year?  Coming to terms with my mother’s role in my life.  For years I’ve harbored cold resentment toward her.  Much more than I have toward my father.  Yet in this first year of blogging, I’ve done an about-face.

Here’s a dream I had about her in August 2012.  In the dream Mom is an attractive, even endearing figure.  Where did this come from?   I’m still not sure, but here it is, followed by some of my reflections.

17 August 2012

I’m in a rink-like area with other women.  A woman in the rink is telling us about the new surface that’s just been completed.  It’s so smooth that no ice or roller skates are required.  Just regular flat shoes.  Several women are trying it out.

I’ve just arrived, and know my mother is nearby.  I call out for her to come and see.  The minute she hears how it works she gets in the rink and takes off in a graceful glide around the far end of the rink.  She does a beautiful leap, turn, and ballet-like move, lands smoothly, and keeps going.

She’s smiling, happy and totally healed in her body.  Her hair is cut short.  It’s dark auburn, wavy, and lovely.  She’s wearing a skating/ballet-like outfit with a short full skirt that floats into the air as she leaps and comes back down.  She looks youthful and mature—perhaps in her late 20s or early 30s.  She’s beautiful and obviously accomplished.  I feel proud that she’s out there doing her thing.

Live in my own world

Is this Mom?

When I wake up from the dream I feel surprised, happy and sad all at the same time.  I recall a fragment of another dream I had several days earlier.  I’m in a room.  I don’t know where.  I’m standing behind a woman seated in a chair.  Her back is toward me, and she’s leaning over something she is creating—a work of art?  I’m not sure.

My attention goes to her beautiful hair—just like the hair I see on my mother in the skating rink dream.  However, in this earlier dream I don’t recognize the woman right away as my mother.  I know I’ve seen hair like that before, and when I look at the sliver of profile on the right side of her face, I’m surprised and delighted to see this is my mother.  She seems totally at ease with herself and focused on what she’s doing, even though others are in the room.

I don’t recall many pre-polio dreams about Mom or about her looking this young, content, rested, and energetic.  When she married my father, she seemed to accept the world she entered.  Yet my writing project highlights not simply how damaging that world was to me, but how damaging it was to her.  Yes, she was my father’s collaborator.

If, however, I put her role in the context of human trafficking, she becomes a victim collaborator—like other women victims who earn the trust of their male ‘owners.’ It seems they survive by denying human bonds of affection or compassion for the victims over whom they are given limited power.

In Our Backyard by Nita Belles includes a chilling story that suggests this.  A daughter and then her mother get lured into human trafficking via a modeling agency.  The mother eventually becomes trusted enough to pave the way for new recruits, and is allowed limited ‘freedom’ to carry out tasks on behalf of her traffickers.  One day, this mother sees an opportunity to escape, and takes her daughter along.

It seems only a mother would remain connected enough by human bonds to even dare this—risking her own freedom and life by bringing her daughter along.  Ironically, however, this tiny crack in their prison was made possible by first demonstrating she could and would treat her daughter no differently than she treated all the other young women.

Though my mother collaborated with my father, she retained her capacity to relate to me, especially after I was married.  I’ve often regretted that she died before my father.  Perhaps a bit of my stumbling courage when I confronted my father openly in 1993 gave her permission to own her own humanity and womanhood.

A New Year’s toast to Mom:  My Number One Creative Ally!

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 December 2014

Diane is in my dreams

It’s April 2011
Diane is in my dreams—
tall, beautiful
wearing a long, full
light mocha winter coat
that’s gently flared
in the back.

I see her
from the back,
looking over her left shoulder,
smiling at me. Read the rest of this entry »

The Shepherdess

Simple elegance
Strong body
Sun bonnet
casts shade over
tumbling tresses
Hint of smile
Head turns slightly
Eyes averted
Basket of posies
loops gracefully
around bare forearm
Sweet dress
swirls gently over
exposed ankles
Feet clad in
flat slippers
firmly grounded
Left arm cradles
shepherd’s crook
worn and ready
at her side
Beware wolves
in shepherd’s clothing

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 4 September, 2014
Photo credit:  DAFraser
Statue stands in the Main Fountain Garden of Longwood Gardens, PA

weeping branches

weeping beech, aka the cemetery tree

weeping branches brush
lightly against my face and
whisper sweet somethings

* * * * *

a weeping beech stands watch
near the cemetery Read the rest of this entry »

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