Festival of Lights

Edited a little. Probably needs more work.

Festival of Lights

Holiday season.

Houses with bright lights,

Stores playing Christmas music.

'Tis the season to be jolly

and smile when asked if the holiday shopping is done.

Smile when someone wishes you Merry Christmas.

It’s the time of year

when it takes a thick skin

to remember 

that the Christmas assumptions aren’t personal.

Just accept the good cheer

And celebrate what you want to however you choose.

The symbolism of lights

The tradition of oil and candles, 

Are not the providence of one religion.

The festival of lights

Hindu November,

the triumph of light over darkness 

and good over evil. 

Hebrew month of Kislev

Celebrating the miracle triumphs over oppression and oil.

Kwanzaa December,

African American celebration of life,

Seven candles, seven principles.

No matter the religion or beliefs,

Festivals. Lights. Symbols. 

Brightening the night.

Miracles. Renewal. Gifts.

Spiritual rituals.

Making memories.

The goal is to end the year with hope.

And love.

First Thanksgiving

First Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving won’t be the same

without you.

Who will be there to glare

when the kids about what time to eat

and which football games are on tv?

Who will comment on the food at the restaurant

the dried out turkey,

fat laden gravy,

and oversalted green beans?

Who will be there to insist we take a break before dessert

even though we’re at a buffet.

And then ask ask for the third time

“Did you get enough to eat?”

Then on the way home 

comment about how we all ate too much?

Who will be there

to remind us

to be thankful

And to make us feel guilty if we aren’t?

No.

Thanksgiving won’t be the same

without you.

But we will probably be more thankful

than ever before

When we notice the difference.

Morning Poem for my Children

Morning poem

1.

This morning’s poem is why I should write Morning pages in the morning.

This morning’s poem is why I should write free form,

every day.

Writing takes the doubt and sad

out of my head,

So I can go about my day

without the weight of my failures

on my conscience,

encroaching on my words and actions.

In other words,

I should write because it makes me

a better person.

2. 

I reach deep down and come up with

Nothing.

These are my daughters 

My DNA,

My children,

My everything,

And yet,

Nothing.

Am I dead?

3. 

Am I spiritually dead?

I’ve never been convinced about God.

When I read from the prayer book at services,

I skipped Our God.

My daughter noticed it once,

during a Yom Kippur Service.

She got so excited,

because she was unsure too

And did the same thing.

Is that the legacy I want to leave my child?

A question mark about God?

4. 

Daughters,

I have two.

Sisters,

I have none.

I find women to be comforting, mean,

Puzzling, brilliant.

I see that as a woman I am often underestimated and misunderstood,

Mainly by men,

Sometimes by women.

I am a woman,

a mom.

I call myself Single.

The forms I fill out want me to say Divorced.

I don’t.

I am a woman,

And still figuring out how to play that role

in a society where labels based on looks

set the stage for what you can and cannot say.

I say things anyway.

I get a little cranky.

I get offended.

I get angry.

I get soft.

I get confused.

And I cause confusion.

When I act like a man,

I am shunned or rebuked.

When I act like a woman,

I am put in a box and ignored.

Generalities?

Not always shunned, rebuked, boxed up and ignored.

But enough times that I am wary,

for my daughters, 
I wonder,

Will it ever change?

Something in the way I move

Something in the way I move

I walk quickly, so they say.

It’s not that I’m in a hurry,

That’s how my legs move,

Long legs, short torso.

Fast walker, slow sprinter.

My dance moves have gotten smoother.

They used to be jerky,

I didn’t know what to do 

And I worried about what people thought.

Mostly, they laughed.

Now I don’t care what people think when I dance.

I’ll stand in the back of a concert hall

And let the music move me.

Something in the way I move

With the music

Takes me out of my skin

Into a body of rhythm and feeling

That stays with me until the concert ends.

The way I move is me.

The way I move means something to me.

The way I move

Something in the way

I move

I move

I move.

Something. 
Yes, it is something.

This library is noisy

My first attempt to write about why I am passionate about libraries.

This library is noisy

1. 

There are people here

Doing all kinds of things,

Working at computers

Playing games on computers,

Small groups talking, maybe studying.

People looking at books,

Asking librarians questions,

Kids building with legos

Playing with puppets,

Crawling on the floor with oversize blocks

Parents watching,

Parents joining in.

Librarians talking, 

Checking their email, sneaking a peak at their cellphone,

Gabbing, reading, planning,

Answering questions about how to log into the computers, the internet, printing,

Where a book is, 

how to look for a book in the catalog

If a study room is available,

Where a program is being held,

Where the bathroom is,

Why there’s only a broken escaltor and no stairs,

And they don’t like the glass elevator.

2.

The library is noisy,

A busy kind of noisy.

Full of sound created by people

From all over the city,

All over the world,

And they are all here

Where it is warm, safe, and open to anyone

Who wants to see what is inside the building.

No membership card is required,

No passport or visa or ID.

Just the need or willingness to cross the threshold.

3.

So much noise

So much going on.

Reading, writing, learning, playing, singing, dancing, building, creating.

4.

Noisy is a negative word.

In a library it is positive.

Clamor and discordance welcome change and learning..

Quiet, silent, soundless, and still encourage stagnation.

Libraries are about transformation

Encouraging  exploration.

Come to the library

Create a racket and grow.

Walk On

First title I gave this was Weather and Walks. Not sure I like that.

My kind of weather

My kind of day.

Cool, misty rain,

No commitments.

Hat, gloves, water, and snack.

I can walk until dark.

I'm Writing a Book

I’m Writing a Book

When an eleven year-old tells you 

"I’m writing a book"

and means it,

It makes what I’m doing seem trivial.

I write thoughts that pop into my head.

I steal other people’s words that I overhear

and turn them into verse.

I search for a genre to write in, 

a project I can finish.

She already has her niche.

and is working toward an end goal.

Eleven years old and looking for a writing workshop.

So she can learn to be a better writer

and how to publish her book.

She writes fantasy

and is proud of it.

Her mom is proud of her.
Her sister smiles and says she could make a book.

I look at my 49 pages and counting

and think I write garbage.

Eleven years old

and confident enough to call herself a writer.

And she is.

Fantasy Football

Fantasy Football

The draft was a pain to schedule time for,

The players my friend told me to go for 

Were nearly all taken by the time I got my chance.

Got one and went by rankings for the rest.

First few weeks were stressful.

FInding out we had to set a lineup each week

Figuring out how to do it.

While being nagged about what I didn’t know.

Next few weeks were a learning experience,

Learning we could drop and add players,

And how to do it

Weeks six through nine were kind of fun

Studying the numbers 

Winning a few games.

At ten weeks it became interesting.

Discussion started about the prize structure.

Turns out I didn’t understand that either.

Week twelve and my interest waned.

So many things I’d rather be doing

on Wednesday night, Saturday night, Sunday morning.

Binge watching a tv show

writing, reading,

sleeping late, working out,

Or anything that doesn’t involve

bye weeks, player stats, and projections.

It’s a family league so the pay-in

will go to a nephew, niece, or sibling.

And that’s okay by me.

Personally, I find real life 

far more interesting than this kind of fantasy world.

If I want fantasy,

I can read a book. 

Far more interesting

and it won’t cost me fifty dollars.