I am just a piece of baggage, a valise well used and marred,
Showing evidence of service in a surface badly scarred.
But, I had my days of glory, though they’d be pooh-poohed by some,
When I was swept up for travel by some fingers and a thumb.
Then, I hit upon the “True Tale of the Flaming Lithuanians,” an epic of near mass murder…..but with a happier ending than Jonestown and the Kool Ade. Since my mother played the role of Jim Jones in this saga, and I was but one of her victims, we pondered whether the story should be told from her point of view or my own.
The garden of Eden
Was the first…
My garden, at times, may be the worst,
Yet every garden, within its sod,
Contains a blessing conveyed by God.
Love is an heirloom,
Long lived, long loved,
Handed down from mother to daughter,
Father to son,
Lover to beloved...
The first dog I loved, was, by coincidence, one of the great dogs of the western world. Mutt was a typical yellow guy of indeterminate parentage, short-haired and on the lean, lanky side, his name being indicative of some of that. He climbed onto an Army Jeep in Truro, Nova Scotia, sometime in the latter days of World War II. The soldiers may have befriended him in town and coaxed him to come along….or, Mutt may simply have had his own agenda.
The Land of Starbuckia
Although it’s a rather long distance away.
My nerves start to quiver in anticipation,
The closer I come to this sacred location.
When I was just a tiny tot, a wide-eyed, well-loved daughter,
I learned that I could take a bath in just a cup of water.
Well, maybe more than just a cup… It might have been a dish;
But Mama told me I’d be clean in one strategic swish.
Or, two or three. But, it was clear low rations wouldn’t hurt.
And see that ol’ Blueberry Moon!
In the blanket of sky, as the leaves rustle, dry,
While the paws and the hooves in the wood
Tap a soft summer song that will echo year long,
And the scent of night air is so good:
There’s a glow in the east that will beacon the beasts
As they play out that ol’ woodland tune,
And the farms and the streams are caught up in the dreams
Of that ragged ol’ Blueberry Moon.
Dan Buettner’s best seller The Blue Zones tells of elder populations in Okinawa, who enjoy a specific circle of friends from age five on. As little children, their parents introduce them to one another, and this group of five or six, called a Moai, becomes their own personal support group. These people are playmates in youth and a support system for a lifetime.