Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Memories

shades of dusk

cleansing water sweeps
sands of time with burning gold
dust dropped from heaven

***

I was just looking through some photos, getting ready to shut down for the night, and this haiku happened. I love dusk, when everything holds its breath, and the sky comes close to earth with no sound but waves washing onto the beach. The photo reminds me of my childhood and teenage years in Savannah, Georgia, and the old wooden pier at the Tybee Island Beach–though this one is a bit more substantial.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 November 2017
Photo found at pixabay.com

my small world

Living in a well-kept cave
Hunched over my desk
A mere speck of dust
On the head of a pin
I labor earnestly
To make all right within
And without my small world

Ducking my head
I make my way cautiously
Down narrow stairsteps
Into an underground cellar
Retrieving small bits and pieces
Of frozen life-support
Watching lest I bang my head
On a forgotten metal pipe
Or hefty wooden beam

Sitting at my kitchen table
Shades drawn to shut out the gloom
And chill of approaching winter
I drink to yet another day
Of life within this small abode
Lined with objects of a past
Now haunting my present as I
Dig deep searching for lost pieces
Of a life I once lived now frozen
Within ghostlike reminders

This poem captures a truth about my life. Is it overstated? I hope so. But then again….

Sometimes I use John Baillie’s Diary of Private Prayer for my morning and evening prayers. The language is a bit outdated for my ears, but this line grabbed my attention this morning, leading to the poem above.

Creator Spirit….Forbid that under the low roof of workshop or office of study I should ever forget Thy great overarching sky….

John Baillie, A Diary of Private Prayer, p. 30 (Fireside, 1996 edition)

Thankfully the sun is out today, with fluffy clouds sprinkled here and there. I want to walk this day beneath and within the roof of our Creator’s glorious, overarching sky. Indoors or out, though I’m hoping for outdoors!

Elouise

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 October 2017
Photo found at carlwozniak.com
Daily Prompt: Fluff; Gratitude

Great Expectations | Photos

By whose expectations do we live? This post from two years ago, lightly edited, is still relevant, particularly in light of current political and global realities. In September 2015 D and I were on a grand 50th wedding anniversary trip, driving through Scotland. Which more than exceeded our expectations–in every way! But that’s another topic.

D took the photo above in Edinburgh, directly behind the Sir Walter Scott Monument. We’re looking down into the East Princes Street Gardens. Notice the benches. They line the sidewalk from one end to the other. Each bench includes a plaque to honor an everyday person or family member(s) now deceased yet remembered warmly by friends and relatives.

The plaque below caught my attention and made me laugh and smile. How did the Rev Alan B. Cameron MA BD STM, the piping hot Scot ‘prove Romans 8’? I don’t know, but his life of faithful generosity made an impression. Perhaps despite great trials?

Above the Gardens looms the huge Edinburgh Castle and grounds. It’s packed with tributes on stone plaques. The plaque below stood out to me. Though it isn’t small or simple, the words describing Mary of Lorraine are human-size, even though she was “Queen of James V, Mother of Mary Queen of Scots and Regent of Scotland from 1554-1560.” I’m taken by the warm tribute to her character and behavior. Perhaps Mary of Lorraine was related to Rev. Alan B. Cameron, “the piping hot Scot?”


Finally, we have a different kind of tribute in the outer wall of the Edinburgh Castle, overlooking the city.  These aren’t to human soldiers, but to their faithful canine companions. I can make out three of the dogs’ names on the gravestones–Scamp, Tinker, and Feora (?) who was a Band Pet. Even though I’m a cat lover, my heart melted.

Faithful. That’s what I want to be. Not faithful to others’ expectations of me, but faithful to God as one of God’s beloved daughters and sons. I’m drawn to the simplicity of the tributes above. In the end, it’s all about faithfulness–to God, to oneself and to others. Including the faithful bond between human beings and their canine (and feline!) companions.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, published on 23 September 2015 as Small Signs of Faithful Lives | Photos; edited and reposted 21 October 2016
Photo credit: DAFraser, September 2015 in Edinburgh, Scotland
Daily Prompt: Expect

Moments

Death
Sudden release
Followed by startled grief
Most deeply felt
In waves

Calm
Release of pain
Blood pressure dropping
To a measurable
Sum

Joy
Knocks at my door
Sweeps emptiness aside
For a shining moment
Lingering

Peace
Unannounced
Arrives on the doorstep
Of my heart
Singing

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 October 2017
Photo found at heartwrittenwords.com
Daily Prompt: Release

Still on my open-mic high

Sunday evening I bravely showed up at our church with D and three poems. Our church’s first-ever open-mic night. The gym was set up with gracious laid-back elegance, and several tables were spread with café-quality cookies and other sweet finger foods. Plus non-alcoholic drinks and a basket for donations to the Deacon’s Fund.

To my surprise, I was up first. Good! It meant I fully enjoyed the rest of the show. Performers included children, young people, middle-age people, and a good number of us gray-hairs. About twelve ‘acts’ in all, ranging from poetry and a book excerpt reading to riddles, funny jokes, professional and amateur musical renditions, and a crazy-funny skit at the end.

It felt good to be behind a microphone again. I’m not a born performer. I do, though, love the way words work, especially when delivered as performance art, with an opportunity to say a bit about what I’ve written.

I chose personal poems, accessible to all ages. Below are links to my three poems, plus the third poem in its entirety. Reading it out loud was even better than writing it!

This was my first open-mic event ever. So now I’m wondering about venues where I might read and talk about more of my poems, now more than 390. But that’s for another day.

music to my ears
Her bespoke face
Homecoming on the Grounds….

Homecoming on the Grounds….

Homecoming this Sunday on the grounds
of the Montgomery Presbyterian Church
Come One, Come All!
Sunday, 12:30 to 5:00 pm
All Ages Welcome!

Beneath aging water oaks
Long wooden tables covered with oilcloth
and butcher paper groan with food
Children race shrieking with joy

Ladies arrange and surreptitiously rearrange
table settings to favor their own delicacies
properly positioned for easy access
and maximum compliments

Piles of coated, crispy southern fried chicken
Bowls of homegrown boiled corn on the cob cut in 2-inch portions
Mounds of southern white potato salad swimming
in mayo, relish, cut-up hard-boiled eggs, salt and pepper

Molded bright green and orange jello ‘salads’
defy description
laced with canned mixed fruit, grated carrots and raisins,
small-curd cottage cheese and pineapple bits or
My Mom’s strawberry jello salad
with real strawberries and rhubarb!

Platters of thick-sliced juicy homegrown tomatoes
Hunks of sugary-sweet southern-style cornbread
Pots of honey-bee honey and real butter

Obligatory cut green beans drowning
in canned cream-of-something soup topped
with crispy brown onion fries
Boiled collards and turnip greens swimming
in chunks of fatty ham and Tobasco-laced broth

Plates of beguiling deviled eggs dusted with red paprika
Baskets of buttery white rolls and salty potato chips
Nary a boiled carrot to be seen

Lemon chiffon pie, sweet potato pie
and banana pudding with soggy vanilla wafer edges
Cheesecake in graham-cracker crusts
topped with canned cherries
smothered in red glop

Pecan pies and German chocolate cakes
Chocolate chip cookies, decorated sugar cookies, peanut butter cookies
Moon Pies and Tootsie Rolls

Hot coffee with caffeine and real cream
Sweetened iced tea with lemon slices
Water and funeral home fans for the faint of heart

Yet more glorious still—
Pit-cooked, falling-apart whole barbecued pork
prepared and reverently tended overnight by real men
on the grounds of hog heaven
***

This is a favorite childhood memory from life in the South. I was 8 years old when we moved to the Deep South. These annual October potluck dinners were even better than Christmas!

Cheers!
Elouise

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 October 2017
Image found at farmingtonnm.org

Daily Prompt: Brave

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

The high cost of loving

Just when I think
I’ve memorized
Every line in your face
Death rewrites it

My heart stops beating
Memory fails
A lump in its throat

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 31 August 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Memorize

There’s a chill in the air

There’s a chill in the air
this morning.
I warm my old skin
with soft flannel
and walk through my museum
of relics.
Nothing rhymes today.
Reason flew south months ago
leaving only my heart
and you.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 August 2017
Painting found at forhumanliberation.blogspot.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Rhyme

Who am I today

Who am I today
she wondered just yesterday.
Small losses pile up
Autumn leaves drift through the air
A clock ticks in the background

It’s that time of year. I can’t avoid it. It reminds me life is short, and that from the day I was born I began to die.

Sad? Yes, especially now that I’ve lost family and friends I’ve loved, and often wish I’d known better.

Will I see them again? My faith tells me there’s more to life than this. Still, I won’t see or touch them again in this life.

The end sometimes feels inexorable. I can’t stop the clock from ticking, or predict when my time will run out.

I can, however, enjoy each moment of today. Beginning with a late afternoon walk before the sun goes down.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 29 August 2017
Photo found at elrobotpescador.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Magnetic

A Gift from Maya Angelou

This morning I woke up with one of Maya Angelou’s poems on my mind. She wrote it for Bill Clinton’s presidential inauguration in 1993. She could have written it for today. It’s nearly 6 minutes long, well worth every second. There’s a link below to a printed version of the entire poem.

Why this poem? Because of the last lines. They grabbed my gut when I first heard them. Her words took me back just two years earlier. We were deep into planned conversations at the seminary where I was then on the faculty. In addition to Rodney King being on our minds, we’d had our own share of distressing racially charged incidents. Feelings were running high.

We were placed into small groups and given a set of questions to guide conversation. We met several times in mixed groups, with student, staff and faculty involvement throughout.

I’ll never forget a black student’s comments to me. I’d asked for examples of times when black students felt ignored, unwelcome or uncomfortable. At that time the seminary had at least 35% black African-American students. His response stunned me.

He said that when he passed me in the hallways I never looked him in the eye or greeted him. It didn’t matter where I was going or what I was doing. It didn’t matter that I’d never had him in a class. He felt unwelcome and unacknowledged as a human being.

He wasn’t angry. He felt offended, and put on guard. Not looking him in the eye, not even saying ‘Good Morning’ or ‘How’s it  going today?’ was, for him, a signal that he didn’t count in my world. Or worse, I thought he wasn’t worth getting to know.

Such a ‘simple’ thing. It was hard for me to hear, yet right on the money. I agreed to try this out for several days. Not just with him, but with other students as well.

The first few days were tough. I discovered I was especially reluctant to greet male students of any color. A sign of fear, especially around black men, and fear of sending mixed messages or worse. At the same time, it was a lesson I’ve never forgotten.

Here’s the very last stanza of Maya Angelou’s poem, “On the Pulse of Morning.” You can see why it caught my heart.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 24 August 2017
Video of live reading found on YouTube