Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for timely words of encouragement that helped me right my sinking ship and move to higher ground.
The reward of a thing well done is to have done it. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
If the wind will not serve, take to the oars. ~Latin Proverb
You must be at the end of your rope. I felt a tug. ~Author Unknown
For these blessings, I am grateful.
Amen.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Monday, April 24, 2006
Monday, 24 April 2006 - Happy Birthday, Mom
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for my mother who is celebrating her 81st birthday.
My mother is a poem
I'll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.
~Sharon Doubiago
Below is the poem I wrote to commemorate Mom's 80th birthday (last year). I had planned to read it tonight at a local poetry reading, but winter weather has settled in and I don't want to venture out in the cold. So, I'll share it here. Note that, although the poem expresses my intentions, it captures my mother's spirit and energy.
When I am sixty,
I will ride my bike very carefully
Along the ancient cobblestone path
That leads to the local
Farmers’ Market where
I’ll buy fresh ingredients for
Tonight’s dinner.
This will be my morning routine
In Vence, France,
A tiny medieval village
Where Matisse built his chapel.
I’ll visit favorite vendors,
The ones who already know how
Picky I am and won’t become
Too impatient while I choose
The perfect herbs,
The ripest tomatoes, and
The sweetest fruit.
Shopping finished,
My bike heavy with parcels,
I’ll return to our cottage,
To begin sorting, cleaning and
Preparing my culinary treasures.
My husband is very busy,
Making phone calls,
Conducting meetings and
Sending emails to associates.
He’s looking forward to his daily bike ride
Along the back roads and
A casual dinner on the terrace.
The dog sleeps peacefully near the
Grove of mature fruit trees.
Our first Provence summer.
All is calm. All is bright.
I’ve been alive for six decades,
Yet, I am just beginning to
Live fully.
By early afternoon,
Lavender and rose scented air
Will blow gently through my studio
As I sit at the computer,
Writing and editing
A new poem.
When I am seventy,
I will stroll along the beach
On lazy summer mornings
To collect scallop shells
And kelp bulbs
And sea glass.
I’ll walk barefoot through the surf,
Happily anticipating the
The wet sand’s squish and
The cold water’s sting.
The dog, a chocolate Lab,
Will run ahead of me,
Chasing flocks of birds
Before pausing to sniff
A mound of rotting seaweed.
I’ll wear
A straw hat with a
Wide, floppy brim,
And a gauzy cotton shirt
Over comfortable white capris.
I won’t forget the sunscreen
Or bottled water
Or sunglasses
Or dog treats.
I’ll hum a tune that
Harmonizes with the
Tide’s steady rhythm.
As the sun’s heat intensifies,
I’ll gulp the cool breeze
And sip the salty air
Until one obnoxious sea gull
Reminds me that
It’s time to go home.
My husband should be back from
His daily bike ride along the coast.
And, I still have
A million things to do,
Places to visit,
People to see,
And, gratefully,
Time to spend.
When I am eighty,
I will climb the mountain
That rises five thousand feet above the
Cabin we call home.
I’ll visit the Columbine garden growing
Near the massive gray boulder
That sits about twenty yards
East of the secluded beaver pond.
I’ll hike slowly along
This familiar path until the
Sun reaches its highest point,
My signal to turn around
And head for home.
On the return trip,
I’ll think about
The book I am writing,
Ideas for a new poem, and
The chores I neglected this morning.
I’ll stop in the meadow
To pick a large wildflower bouquet
For the kitchen table and
To inspect the thicket of
Ripening raspberries.
That evening,
As we relax on the front porch,
We’ll marvel at the
Glorious sunset and
Toast day’s end
With glasses of
Homemade lemonade.
We’ll be three companions,
Husband, wife and Labrador retriever son,
Three adventurers who found
Their rainbow’s end
On a Colorado mountain.
I’ll feel extraordinarily blessed,
Tired in a good way,
Grateful to be alive, and
Joyous in the peace
Of all things.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for my mother who is celebrating her 81st birthday.
My mother is a poem
I'll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.
~Sharon Doubiago
Below is the poem I wrote to commemorate Mom's 80th birthday (last year). I had planned to read it tonight at a local poetry reading, but winter weather has settled in and I don't want to venture out in the cold. So, I'll share it here. Note that, although the poem expresses my intentions, it captures my mother's spirit and energy.
When I am sixty,
I will ride my bike very carefully
Along the ancient cobblestone path
That leads to the local
Farmers’ Market where
I’ll buy fresh ingredients for
Tonight’s dinner.
This will be my morning routine
In Vence, France,
A tiny medieval village
Where Matisse built his chapel.
I’ll visit favorite vendors,
The ones who already know how
Picky I am and won’t become
Too impatient while I choose
The perfect herbs,
The ripest tomatoes, and
The sweetest fruit.
Shopping finished,
My bike heavy with parcels,
I’ll return to our cottage,
To begin sorting, cleaning and
Preparing my culinary treasures.
My husband is very busy,
Making phone calls,
Conducting meetings and
Sending emails to associates.
He’s looking forward to his daily bike ride
Along the back roads and
A casual dinner on the terrace.
The dog sleeps peacefully near the
Grove of mature fruit trees.
Our first Provence summer.
All is calm. All is bright.
I’ve been alive for six decades,
Yet, I am just beginning to
Live fully.
By early afternoon,
Lavender and rose scented air
Will blow gently through my studio
As I sit at the computer,
Writing and editing
A new poem.
When I am seventy,
I will stroll along the beach
On lazy summer mornings
To collect scallop shells
And kelp bulbs
And sea glass.
I’ll walk barefoot through the surf,
Happily anticipating the
The wet sand’s squish and
The cold water’s sting.
The dog, a chocolate Lab,
Will run ahead of me,
Chasing flocks of birds
Before pausing to sniff
A mound of rotting seaweed.
I’ll wear
A straw hat with a
Wide, floppy brim,
And a gauzy cotton shirt
Over comfortable white capris.
I won’t forget the sunscreen
Or bottled water
Or sunglasses
Or dog treats.
I’ll hum a tune that
Harmonizes with the
Tide’s steady rhythm.
As the sun’s heat intensifies,
I’ll gulp the cool breeze
And sip the salty air
Until one obnoxious sea gull
Reminds me that
It’s time to go home.
My husband should be back from
His daily bike ride along the coast.
And, I still have
A million things to do,
Places to visit,
People to see,
And, gratefully,
Time to spend.
When I am eighty,
I will climb the mountain
That rises five thousand feet above the
Cabin we call home.
I’ll visit the Columbine garden growing
Near the massive gray boulder
That sits about twenty yards
East of the secluded beaver pond.
I’ll hike slowly along
This familiar path until the
Sun reaches its highest point,
My signal to turn around
And head for home.
On the return trip,
I’ll think about
The book I am writing,
Ideas for a new poem, and
The chores I neglected this morning.
I’ll stop in the meadow
To pick a large wildflower bouquet
For the kitchen table and
To inspect the thicket of
Ripening raspberries.
That evening,
As we relax on the front porch,
We’ll marvel at the
Glorious sunset and
Toast day’s end
With glasses of
Homemade lemonade.
We’ll be three companions,
Husband, wife and Labrador retriever son,
Three adventurers who found
Their rainbow’s end
On a Colorado mountain.
I’ll feel extraordinarily blessed,
Tired in a good way,
Grateful to be alive, and
Joyous in the peace
Of all things.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Sunday, 23 April 2006 - A cook's intuition
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for a cook's intuition.
Unless I'm baking a cake or making candy, I rarely follow a recipe. I'm not very good at following directions exactly as written. My culinary creations are hybrids.
I study several recipes for a given dish so I know the basic ingredients and directions. Then, I begin cooking. Intuition kicks in. A little more of this and a little less of that, fresh veggies instead of canned, lots of garlic and onions, generous portions of cinnamon and vanilla extract, add cayenne pepper whenever possible because I like hot and spicy dishes.
There is one major drawback to my cooking methods. Since I cook intuitively, I cannot reproduce a given dish (not even my tortilla soup or kim chee). Thank goodness my husband isn't picky. He does wish, however, that I would watch my use of cayenne pepper. What's just right for me is almost too hot for him.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for a cook's intuition.
Unless I'm baking a cake or making candy, I rarely follow a recipe. I'm not very good at following directions exactly as written. My culinary creations are hybrids.
I study several recipes for a given dish so I know the basic ingredients and directions. Then, I begin cooking. Intuition kicks in. A little more of this and a little less of that, fresh veggies instead of canned, lots of garlic and onions, generous portions of cinnamon and vanilla extract, add cayenne pepper whenever possible because I like hot and spicy dishes.
There is one major drawback to my cooking methods. Since I cook intuitively, I cannot reproduce a given dish (not even my tortilla soup or kim chee). Thank goodness my husband isn't picky. He does wish, however, that I would watch my use of cayenne pepper. What's just right for me is almost too hot for him.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Saturday, 22 April 2006 - My environmentalist tendencies
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for my environmentalist tendencies.
We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children. ~Native American Proverb
There are no passengers on Spaceship Earth. We are all crew. ~Marshall McLuhan, 1964
I'm one of those sometimes annoying environmentalists. I pick up trash around the park and neighborhood and tend well-mulched xeriscape gardens that attract the birds and butterflies. I'm an ardent recycler, trying to keep the landfill free of the remnants of my family's consumption: cardboard, chip board, glass, white paper, newspaper, magazines, catalogues, junk mail, plastic, aluminum/steel cans and outdated phone books. I use trash bags made from corn starch and cloth produce bags and shopping totes. At the neighborhood get-togethers, I'm the one who sets up and manages the recycling bins. We give money to environmental causes.
My one transgression involves transportation. I definitely need a car since public transportation is poor and the stores are too far away. But, since S and I work from home, we've curtailed our driving habits quite dramatically. Between the two of us, we usually drive less than 50 miles a week. My next car will be a hybrid or will use biodiesel fuel. Or, we'll move to a town that's more pedestrian and cycling oriented so I can walk or ride a bike to the grocery store, post office, bank, and salon.
I believe in Earth Day, everyday. I hope my actions speak louder than my words.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for my environmentalist tendencies.
We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children. ~Native American Proverb
There are no passengers on Spaceship Earth. We are all crew. ~Marshall McLuhan, 1964
I'm one of those sometimes annoying environmentalists. I pick up trash around the park and neighborhood and tend well-mulched xeriscape gardens that attract the birds and butterflies. I'm an ardent recycler, trying to keep the landfill free of the remnants of my family's consumption: cardboard, chip board, glass, white paper, newspaper, magazines, catalogues, junk mail, plastic, aluminum/steel cans and outdated phone books. I use trash bags made from corn starch and cloth produce bags and shopping totes. At the neighborhood get-togethers, I'm the one who sets up and manages the recycling bins. We give money to environmental causes.
My one transgression involves transportation. I definitely need a car since public transportation is poor and the stores are too far away. But, since S and I work from home, we've curtailed our driving habits quite dramatically. Between the two of us, we usually drive less than 50 miles a week. My next car will be a hybrid or will use biodiesel fuel. Or, we'll move to a town that's more pedestrian and cycling oriented so I can walk or ride a bike to the grocery store, post office, bank, and salon.
I believe in Earth Day, everyday. I hope my actions speak louder than my words.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Friday, 21 April 2006 - Pencil and eraser
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for my favorite mechanical pencil and one very large eraser.
Map out your future, but do it in pencil. ~Jon Bon Jovi
I never expected that my life would change so quickly - month to month, day to day, minute to minute. I don't plan for certainty but for uncertainty. Erase this expectation. Cross out that wish. Pencil-in this maybe. Don't forget to dream.
For these blessings, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for my favorite mechanical pencil and one very large eraser.
Map out your future, but do it in pencil. ~Jon Bon Jovi
I never expected that my life would change so quickly - month to month, day to day, minute to minute. I don't plan for certainty but for uncertainty. Erase this expectation. Cross out that wish. Pencil-in this maybe. Don't forget to dream.
For these blessings, I am grateful.
Amen.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Thursday, 20 April 2006 - One very contented dog
Dear God:Today, I am thankful for one very contented dog.
T is getting older and spends much of the day sleeping. When he's outside, he's not patrolling the yard like he did when he was younger. He's napping near the garden, his fur collecting the thatch and dirt that will eventually end up on the carpet.
My husband, S, and I try to make each day special for him. A gourmet dog biscuit. A pat on the head as we whisper, "good boy." A tummy rub on demand. A game of fetch with his new "lambie-doodle" toy. A doggie kiss and hug. Walks in the park. Hikes along the trail. And, our daily mantra, repeated often and passionately: "I love you so much!"
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Wednesday, 19 April 2006 - My little garden
Dear God:Today, I am thankful for my little garden.
Mary, Mary,
Quite Contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockleshells
And pretty maids all in a row.
~ English nursery rhyme
My garden is doing well, thank you very much. I am delighted that the plants are waking up from their winter sleep. I've already raked the mulch and deep-watered the entire plot.
I took this picture earlier today. This year, my plan is to add a walking path on the left side (next to the concrete driveway). If you look closely at this picture, you can see the lone daffodil that bloomed yesterday.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Tuesday, 18 April 2006 - First daffodil
Dear God:Today, I am thankful for the first daffodil to bloom in my front yard garden.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Monday, 17 April 2006 - Fingernails
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for my fingernails.
My fingernails have endured all the activities required of my hands. I keep them manicured and presentable. They're short because I work a lot with my hands (typing, cooking, gardening, knitting). Rather than painting them with lacquer, I buff them until they shine. They're very strong and durable and immune to most of my abuse.
Now, I am usually very careful and deliberate when I chop vegetables and other ingredients for my culinary creations. Yesterday, however, the knife slipped while I chopped turkey for the tortilla soup. The very sharp blade cut through the nail of my index finger (left hand), slicing tissue and skin. To stop the bleeding, I applied a compress and covered the incision with cayenne pepper (yes, it does work).
Later, while inspecting the wound more carefully, I realized that, if my nail hadn't been there, I probably would have cut off part of my finger. Lucky me.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for my fingernails.
My fingernails have endured all the activities required of my hands. I keep them manicured and presentable. They're short because I work a lot with my hands (typing, cooking, gardening, knitting). Rather than painting them with lacquer, I buff them until they shine. They're very strong and durable and immune to most of my abuse.
Now, I am usually very careful and deliberate when I chop vegetables and other ingredients for my culinary creations. Yesterday, however, the knife slipped while I chopped turkey for the tortilla soup. The very sharp blade cut through the nail of my index finger (left hand), slicing tissue and skin. To stop the bleeding, I applied a compress and covered the incision with cayenne pepper (yes, it does work).
Later, while inspecting the wound more carefully, I realized that, if my nail hadn't been there, I probably would have cut off part of my finger. Lucky me.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Sunday, 16 April 2006 - Daffodils and Easter
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for daffodils and Easter.
The daffodils almost bloomed today. Apparently, they need a few more days before they show their bright yellow faces in my garden. I am watchful. Daffodils are among my favorite flowers because, in Los Angeles, they bloomed around my birthday. In Colorado, they bloom around Easter.
Despite my disappointment with the daffodils, I did celebrate Easter at a local church. This year, in particular, Easter means more to me than Christ's resurrection. It signifies my own rebirth and renewal. I think that Jesus would approve.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for daffodils and Easter.
The daffodils almost bloomed today. Apparently, they need a few more days before they show their bright yellow faces in my garden. I am watchful. Daffodils are among my favorite flowers because, in Los Angeles, they bloomed around my birthday. In Colorado, they bloom around Easter.
Despite my disappointment with the daffodils, I did celebrate Easter at a local church. This year, in particular, Easter means more to me than Christ's resurrection. It signifies my own rebirth and renewal. I think that Jesus would approve.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Saturday, 15 April 2006 - Calm weather
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for calm weather.
Mr. Wind. When will you stop singing your long and depressing aria today? We can't even walk in the park without being battered by your force and pelted with dirt from the adjacent construction site. I'm a petite person and could barely walk against or with you this morning. Poor T had to be satisfied with a quick jaunt down the alley.
I am praying for calmer weather.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for calm weather.
Mr. Wind. When will you stop singing your long and depressing aria today? We can't even walk in the park without being battered by your force and pelted with dirt from the adjacent construction site. I'm a petite person and could barely walk against or with you this morning. Poor T had to be satisfied with a quick jaunt down the alley.
I am praying for calmer weather.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Friday, 14 April 2006 - Sacrifices
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for sacrifices.
On this Good Friday, I am thinking about sacrifices. Not just the one commemorated this day - Jesus' death and it's significance to Christians.
I'm thinking about sacrifices made by my grandparents and parents so that I could have a good life.
I'm thinking about the sacrifices made by people who have given more than I to humanitarian causes that attempt to give the world's poorest citizens a chance to live a full life.
I'm thinking about those serving in the military or in local police and fire departments - the ones who help ensure that I can walk down the street without fear.
I'm thinking about the sacrifices made by our neighbors, Dennis and Debbie, for their sons (I hope Everett and Hayden realize how lucky they are).
My own heart is generous but my wallet is usually empty. Still, I know I can do more. I know I can contribute my fair share and then some.
For these blessings, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for sacrifices.
On this Good Friday, I am thinking about sacrifices. Not just the one commemorated this day - Jesus' death and it's significance to Christians.
I'm thinking about sacrifices made by my grandparents and parents so that I could have a good life.
I'm thinking about the sacrifices made by people who have given more than I to humanitarian causes that attempt to give the world's poorest citizens a chance to live a full life.
I'm thinking about those serving in the military or in local police and fire departments - the ones who help ensure that I can walk down the street without fear.
I'm thinking about the sacrifices made by our neighbors, Dennis and Debbie, for their sons (I hope Everett and Hayden realize how lucky they are).
My own heart is generous but my wallet is usually empty. Still, I know I can do more. I know I can contribute my fair share and then some.
For these blessings, I am grateful.
Amen.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Thursday, 13 April 2006 - A bar of soap
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for a bar of soap.
I know it's homemade by its rough texture and "safe" ingredient list that includes organically grown oils. Its exotic scent nearly matches the Cinnabar fragrance I used to wear. The spiciness reminds me of my favorite hot beverage, chai tea blended with soy milk.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for a bar of soap.
I know it's homemade by its rough texture and "safe" ingredient list that includes organically grown oils. Its exotic scent nearly matches the Cinnabar fragrance I used to wear. The spiciness reminds me of my favorite hot beverage, chai tea blended with soy milk.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Wednesday, 12 April 2006 - A better day to live
Dear God:
Today, I am thankful for a better day to live.
In my dream, I decided that today would be a good day to die. My gardens are in good shape - just need maintenance feeding and watering. The goji berry bushes seem to be taking root in the pots so they'll survive the summer. My house still needs cleaning and decluttering, but people do that after you die so what's the use.
T goes about his business regardless of my presence. S is busy with his work and doesn't particularly cherish me these days.
I won't miss much of this ordinary, boring life. I don't think others will miss me either. Maybe for a while. But in ensuing weeks and months, they'll forget that I ever walked the earth, laughed out loud or wrote poetry.
My footprints, gone. My dreams, gone. My hopes and desires, gone. All that I am or was or could ever be, gone.
Yes, today is a good day to die. But, it's an even better day to live. I choose the latter.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
Today, I am thankful for a better day to live.
In my dream, I decided that today would be a good day to die. My gardens are in good shape - just need maintenance feeding and watering. The goji berry bushes seem to be taking root in the pots so they'll survive the summer. My house still needs cleaning and decluttering, but people do that after you die so what's the use.
T goes about his business regardless of my presence. S is busy with his work and doesn't particularly cherish me these days.
I won't miss much of this ordinary, boring life. I don't think others will miss me either. Maybe for a while. But in ensuing weeks and months, they'll forget that I ever walked the earth, laughed out loud or wrote poetry.
My footprints, gone. My dreams, gone. My hopes and desires, gone. All that I am or was or could ever be, gone.
Yes, today is a good day to die. But, it's an even better day to live. I choose the latter.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
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