Saturday, October 26, 2013

One Time

Our street after Hurricane Sandy
(a year ago, October 29 2012) 


Some listened, some ignored
Some left, some stayed
As the storm crept up the coastline

Her arrival

And when her time came,
She lashed out pent up rage,
Swirling and smashing, tearing and toppling
In a tantrum, daring to destroy 

Too late
To evacuate 

Ocean water invaded homes
Killing memories
Of other times, special times 

When her stamina waned
And she faded into a gentle breeze
Time changed for those she abused 

Thrust back to pioneer days—
Time measured by the setting sun;
Dusty lanterns found;
Unused jars of scented candles
Now lit
Cloaked the darkness with vanilla and jasmine;
Blankets replaced heaters,
Canned food replaced meals,
Tears replaced time

How long til time passes
And tick-tocks back to normal?
Days were cancelled
Scribbled events on calendars
Never happened
Time stops when towns are torn

But who owns time?
Who controls tomorrow?
He who made today
Who gives and takes away

Some see the ruin
Some see the light
Storms will happen
Stealing what we cannot hold
Stealing time,  

Matters . . .


Saturday, October 19, 2013

Funny Want-to-be


 Oh so serious me
My funny family and me in my ironman coat
I’ve always wanted to be funny…but we don’t always get what we want. Thanksgiving, age thirteen, was the first time I realized how humorless I was. Sitting at the kids’ table with my cousins, I listened and laughed as each one took turns telling jokes…but I had nothing to say. I didn’t know one joke to tell other than: “How did the chicken cross the road?” Wait, I even got that wrong. I also lacked confidence, so was afraid to try being funny for fear that I’d be the only one laughing like a big goober. And this is with relatives—imagine how quiet I was in school!

I made up for my serious and sensitive soul by having funny friends and marrying a funny guy—hoping it would rub off or just opposites attract? Gene and I produced five funny kids. I’m sure funny is a dominant “gene.” Ha ha, get it? Or do I have to point out the pun? And I love writing—can edit forever until I almost sound funny or at least make myself laugh. And it’s okay. This is me, the me God made. He knows what He’s doing and can use me the way I am. Funny or not. So for anyone else who ever wished they were funnier, prettier, smarter, thinner, or more normal, accept who you are and you’ll find contentment.

“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.” 1 Corinthians 1:27 Not that I want to lump myself into the foolish category, but the point is that God can use the imperfect to do His work and love people. What could be better?