Your 50th

"For Your Birthday"
by, John O'Donohue

Blessed be the mind that dreamed the day
The blueprint of your life
Would begin to glow on earth,
Illuminating all the faces and voices
That would arrive to invite
Your soul to growth.

Praised be your father and mother,
Who loved you before you were,
And trusted to call you here
With no idea who you would be.

Blessed be those who have loved you
Into becoming who you were meant to be,
Blessed be those who have crossed your life
With dark gifts of hurt and loss
That have helped to school your mind
In the art of disappointment.

When desolations surrounded you,
Blessed be those who looked for you
And found you, their kind hands
Urgent to open a blue window
In the gray wall formed around you.

Blessed be the gifts you never notice,
Your health, eyes to behold the world,
Thoughts to countenance the unknown,
Memory to harvest vanished days,
Your heart to feel the world's waves,
Your breath to breathe the nourishment
Of distance made intimate by earth.

On the echoing-day of your birth,
May you open the gift of solitude
In order to receive your soul;
Enter the generosity of silence
To hear your hidden heart;
Know the serenity of stillness
To be enfolded anew
By the miracle of your being.

Summertime meals, by England's greatest chef, Sweet Marie

Crispy Chicken, Sugar Snaps, and Spinach Salad.

Looks delicious, Marie (as always)! Now, if you will just come by and cook it for me...

~Ally

Beauty, for a rainy Thursday

Wow. Check out this website for absolutely gorgeous prints and cards, and original artwork.

www.teezerz.co.uk/

I especially love many pieces in the KOI and FLORAL galleries. Mmmm, beauty! Does the heart good.

~Ally

poem for a blessed Wednesday

He Stood  
by Aaron Shurin
 

He stamped his feet and opened the door, stood on the threshold, turned around. The desert light shrank his eyes, sun slammed his face--he almost lost his breath--blond shiny grasses, ring of distant mountains pinking in the haze, the scorched but somehow fertile earth--he wiped his brow--he couldn't go in, he couldn't move, he couldn't say why--as if he too were a thing dried in sunlight, stopped in his tracks in the heat that fixed him in its gaze--rattlesnake Medusa--where he breathed the stinging dusty winds as though a rock inhaling rock--his proper evolution?--and fed on silence as it flowered and fell--the fierce clarity, the fierce restraint--front door behind him hanging open like a thrown shadow as he blazed in place... a man inside the view... the zooming arc... and edge to edge the blue absolute...

for you, Mom

Getting Close
by Victoria Redel


Because my mother loved pocketbooks
I come alive at the opening click or close of a metal clasp.

And sometimes, unexpectedly, a faux crocodile handle makes me weep.

Breathy clearing of throat, a smooth arm, heels on pavement, she lingers, sound tattoos.

I go to the thrift store to feel for bobby pins caught in the pocket seam
of a camel hair coat.

I hinge a satin handbag in the crease of my arm. I buy a little change purse with its
curled and fitted snap.

My mother bought this for me. This was my mother’s.

I buy and then I buy and then, another day, I buy something else.

In Paris she had a dog, Bijou, and when they fled Paris in 1942 they left the dog behind.
When my mother died on February 9, 1983, she left me.

Now, thirty years later and I am exactly her age.

I tell my husband I will probably die by the end of today and all day he says, Are you
getting close, Sweetheart? And late in the afternoon, he asks if he should buy enough filet
of sole for two.

From a blue velvet clutch I take out a mirror and behold my lips in the small rectangle.

Put on something nice. Let him splurge and take you out for dinner, my mother whispers
on the glass.

---
About this poem:

"This was a poem written as I tried to write another poem. My mother often shows up this way, pushing up in the cracks and lapses of other poems. I am always surprised by the way my mother lives in me and how much—30 years after her death—I am still talking to her, inventing her, feeling her shape me." —Victoria Redel

yes

Prayer

by Robert Glück


Dear Lord
Show me
The way--
Take
My heart
And throw
It away

Lord, take
My heart
And throw
It out

Lord, throw
My heart
Way out


----
About this poem:


"Typically we put our hands together when we pray. I wanted to make a prayer in which the hands are thrown wide apart in a wish for loss of self. Although the poem is parsed out in short lines, it is rhymed and metered like a stanza from a blues song." —Robert Glück

New love

I am having a Mama day, or I should say, an Allison day. Had to keep the kids at daycare for the long day rate, as I had a meeting at work. So I figured I would take a few extra hours afterward for myself. Bliss!

I was just now sitting in the parking lot of the bookstore, unabashedly watching a young couple, obviously in love, holding each other for a long time. Then kissing. Then laughing and talking. Then looking like they were saying goodbye for an extended period of time (an "I just can't bring my body to leave you" goodbye). Then they held each other again, big, deep "just can't live without you" hugs. Then they both locked their cars and walked away together. A reunion? An almost goodbye? Hard to say, but so beautiful to watch.

Those moments are why I love people watching. Why I love sitting in one spot at the airport and viewing all the departure and arrival hugs, the family reunions, the parent coming home from a long trip, scooping up the little darlings in their arms and feeling that happiness wash over them all. Beauty. Did you see the opening and closing scenes of "Love Actually"? Those are the moments I am talking about, and they can bring you to tears if you don't watch out.

There is something visceral about two bodies coming together...you can see in a flash the hours and days of longing gone by, the long nights alone and the feeling of finally being "home," which really has nothing to do with a house at all.

I want one of those moments. I want that feeling of fresh new love. And I would be happy to have it with my husband of twelve years. He wrote me a text today, "Love you Allison." Just took my breath away. Good moment.

Now in the bookstore, I am sitting next to what seems to be a first date or a first meeting after an online relationship. A lot of get-to-know-ya questions after statements such as, "I'm not sure if I told you or not..." Two older people having a slightly awkward but friendly and reasonably flowing conversation. A lot of basic details being shared, and some more personal stories (they are handling this well). Now a silence. Uncomfortable? Not sure. "What do you tend to do in your spare time," she asks. ...Oh, remember dating? Not that I ever want to do THAT again. But it is kind of sweet to listen in.

I have always loved those moments of getting to know someone, the initial evaluations running through your mind, the thrill of a spark if there is one...the Great Possibilities. That is a wonderful feeling.

In a way, we are always getting to know each other. I could easily ask my husband, "Who are you now?" And I cannot assume the answer. So much of life gets in the way of seeing each other, knowing each other as we change and grow. Which theoretically makes for endless opportunities to discover something new, to connect, to feel that spark.

Last night on TV we watched reruns. The first one was The Office, showing Pam and Jim's conflicted and tied up marriage after babies and years of each making unilateral decisions, and them both feeling lost from each other. It was painful to watch, and familiar. But at the end of the episode, Pam has a flashback from their wedding day in her mind, and releases (finally) into Jim's awkward hug, forgiving, giving him love again. It was really quite beautiful. This was followed by a rerun of Parks and Rec, the episode of Leslie and Ben's spontaneous and hilarious wedding day, ending with their friends singing, "Little Sebastian." I write this for those of you who saw these shows, as there really is no way to explain the nuances of a long-running sitcom and how such silly shows can catch you up in your throat and make you suddenly believe in love, right there in your living room at ten o'clock at night, after twelve years together.

I wrote Scott a very long and heartfelt thank you this afternoon, for being an incredible father, for being a man I could put my faith in, a man I could trust and love. He is amazing with our kids. I am grateful for the moments we have shared with them, and I remain aware that those are fleeting and precious. I try to stay conscious, aware, and pay attention. I try to let love flow through the days...in, out, through.

So darling, I'll meet you in the bookstore parking lot some time, and we can hold each other like new lovers. Maybe we can step back and let our bodies feel for a moment that strong pull, that not wanting to let go. And then we might hold hands and walk away, together.

Why not?

~Ally