Quill #119 - Welcome, Eleanor!

I can already tell you're amazing. Welcome to the family!

Quill #118 - Tradition (1980)

I remember those big family reunions at Grandma's house when everyone stayed overnight.
I would wake up to the familiar chatter of women's voices and the smell of bacon frying on the stove.
Still sleepy, I would go out to the kitchen where their love would surround and claim me.
I was one of the eldest children and it made me feel grown-up when they accepted me.

The men were almost always in the garage, tinkering, showing off, laughing and talking in those deep, resonant voices.
Sometimes they played football in the backyard, all the men and all the boys, except Grandpa and my dad.
Grandpa was too old, and Dad said he didn't care much for football, so the two of them would sit and talk and watch the game until the ladies called the men in to supper.

In the evenings they all played cards.
Sometimes I got to play, but usually the children played their own games, occasionally complaining about the unfairness of being children.
On special occasions, we would all go into the back room, and Grandma would play her ancient piano.
The keys weren't all quite tuned, but their odd tinkling sound only made the old songs seem even older.

Eventually we would trickle away, back to our own homes, just as the time trickled away much more quickly than anyone thought it would.
Grandma's house is gone now, but in my heart it is still there, comforting, and sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, I can still hear her working.
And I know that when I dreamed I was there once again.

(These pictures are not the ones I wanted and may be replaced when I find the right ones.)

Quill #116 - True Love

Over the course of thirty years together, Peregrin and I have come across occasional female friends who, for whatever reason, don't care as much for me and think he's the bee's knees. Inevitably, we have a conversation initiated by them about how Peregrin and I met. This topic can come up in innocent discussions, too. But, with certain women, the underlying message is that Peregrin is too good for me, why is he with me, why does he stay with me, and other questions that might explain how this wonderful man became my husband and then actually stayed with me for a lifetime. These women see Peregrin as he is now, after ten, twenty or thirty years of hard work together; they see what a gem he is now, and they want one just like him - or him.

To these women, I say, "Tough!" Nobody gets to thirty without effort. And nobody stays together for thirty years without reason. We met when we were eighteen years old, married at nineteen. Do you honestly think either of us was much more than potential at that point? We got here together, supporting each other through thick and thin, crying together in hard times and celebrating the bad with the good. And, trust me, there were a lot of difficulties in that space of time that required both of us to grow and cope and learn to laugh. You can't take that away. You can't find it in someone else's life. You can't fake that kind of bond, borrow it, or steal it. There are reasons why he and I trust each other and it has a lot to do with what we've survived as a couple. I wasn't the me you know now, back then, and neither was he. If you want him, you'll have to wait till I'm gone and then work YOUR butt off to be worthy of him.

In each other's care, we discovered science fiction and our own fantasies, raised two and a half children, played games together, survived death and depression, kissed on stage, moved twenty times, suffered through illnesses and despair, learned each other's foibles, traveled alone to faraway lands and returned to inviting arms. We've been poor together and wealthy with love. To quote The Princess Bride: "You can't harm me. [Peregrin] and I are joined by the bonds of true love. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds. And you cannot break that, not with a thousand swords."

Quill #109 - A Spookier Kid Comes Along!

This little guy turns three years old in January and is already reading with comprehension, knows numbers to a hundred, knows colors, reads and interprets street signs and signals, jumps, stands on one leg or the other, skips, stands 40-41 inches tall, and runs his parents ragged every day.

The Spooky Kid Part Two! (pictured with Spooky, the original)

Quill #108 - Love is Kinda Crazy With a Spooky Little Kid

While stationed at Fort Huachuca, my husband got his first computer, a gift from my parents. They spent $40 on a little machine that had about 40 kilobytes of memory and only understood Basic. Peregrin spent a couple of years trying to program that calculator to do anything before we finally got a better one.

He would sit on the floor and mutter the commands as he typed them. Our son, about two years old at the time, sat beside his daddy, watching, fascinated. We didn't think much of it till Spooky - who earned that nickname by doing things like this - corrected one of Peregrin's programming mistakes, and was right.

Even with these hints, even knowing we had a little whippersnapper on our hands, we didn't really take such events seriously. We didn't know what to expect from our first child and accepted everything as reasonably normal.

About two years later, when Spooky had just turned four, my mom took the three of us shopping at a Sears store. We were walking down the aisles in the household goods department when Mom turned to me and asked, "You do know Spooky can read, don't you?" I refuted her statement outright and she turned stubborn.

"I'll prove it, " she said, and took down one of the boxes of laundry soap to show to him. He promptly stated the name of the soap brand and a couple other words from the front of the box. Again, I refused to believe it. I said, "He's quoting from ads he's seen on TV." (Not that perfect ad quotation wouldn't be worthy of note, itself.)

She turned the box to its side panel and showed Spooky the list of ingredients in the soap. He started sounding out the words, "Phosphorus, sulfates, bleach, ...," etc. He read the entire side panel. I was stunned and still unsure that it wasn't some kind of trick. We had read to him quite a bit but he hadn't ever read back to us.

When we went home, Mom pulled out a pocket New Testament from her luggage and gave it to him, asking him to read it to us and prove this wasn't a fluke. He did! He began reading every word, almost perfectly. When he finished a few pages, I asked him if he knew what those words meant and he explained to me what he had just read. This was a child who had maybe been in church ten times in his four years of life, certainly not often enough to memorize bits, and none of his attendances in church had happened since the age of eighteen months!

I will say he probably needed every brain cell he got in order to survive his clueless parents. We expected a lot from the little guy and yet he almost always delivered. I hope he has at least a few happy memories from childhood. He sure gave us a lot of good times.

(family photos picturing Spooky, Kyrie, and nephew)

Quill #103 - The Unicorn's Gift (1972)

Unicorn,
Silver horn,
Glinting in the sunlight.
Through the trees,
Whispering leaves,
Stays my stately handsome knight.

Jet black steed,
Given lead,
Racing through the forest dark.
Evergreen,
Earthly sheen,
He comes when he hears my hark.

Golden haired,
Manly laird,
Smiling at me with his eyes,
Piercing blue,
Deepest hue,
Like the color of the skies.

Magic dreams,
Running streams,
Babbling in my secret land.
Lovely thoughts,
Forget-me-nots,
Forever will he hold my hand.

-----

(image from Dover)

Quill #95 - 30 Years (2010)

I promised you, Love,
To be here when the rains came,
When lightning crawled over our heads.
I swore to be with you
On sorrow-filled sleet days,
Through poverty, illness, till death.

You promised the same, Love,
And here we're together,
Our children moved far from our hearth.
We both kept our promise and,
Though there were trials,
Survivors, we never did part.

We were not alone, Love,
Even when we felt lonely,
For islands are rarer this day.
Our family grew bigger,
Some born, some from marriage,
And some we adopted from fae.

Many years passed, Love,
And dark days were common,
But more were the hours spent in fun.
If I had to do over
I'd choose the same memories,
And you would be my only one.

But, if I had time, Love,
To do it all over,
I'd not repeat our lives again.
I'd add ever more years
That we'd spend together,
Choosing today to begin.

(images from personal archives and Lolcats)

Quill #94 - Upon the Marriage of Our Son and the Gaining of a Daughter (2006)

As a babe, your eyes were lined with care.
At two, you knew more than a child should bear.
Your voice, throughout the years, has grown more strong,
Deep enough to share another's song.

We enjoy the addition of a heart.
A daughter more will be a blessed start,
To what we hope will be a happy life
With young ones, pets, a warm and loving wife.

Just don't forget that you are still our son,
And more than that, were sibling number one.
No pow'r on earth can take us from your side.
We stand by you, your children, and your bride.

If future trials make your song feel weak,
To carry on as needed, do not seek
A path that takes you ever far from home.
For solace, there is no need to roam.

What we can, we will do; it's our role.
May your songs, joined together, make you whole.

Quill #93 - Dreams of You (1974)

When witches on brooms
Creep into my room
And the skies are darkest blue,
I become a fairy child
With magic that is strong and wild
And go to visit you.

I chant a spell ages old,
Wave a wand as bright as gold,
And you know I'm here.
Turn in circles just three times,
Say a mystic magic rhyme,
And I have you near.

Spirits wander in and out,
Magic spreading all about,
And you belong to me.
Misting and fading ere long,
Spell now almost gone,
And there's nothing more to see.

Then I'm back in bed
Where I shake my head
And all has been a dream of night.
Lightning from the skies,
I slowly realize,
And I wonder if I'm right...

...That all the magic was my love for you.

(image from Dover)

Quill #92 - Autumn Nights (1983)

I sing a new song,
A song of joy,
And love that soars the skies.
Springtime passion,
The days of summer,
Turning to Autumn nights.
We sing an old song,
A song of content,
And moonlight reflecting on snow.
Winter romance,
Dancing the slow ones,
Watching the children grow.
I sing a new song;
We sing an old song,
Both songs singing of life.
Our love's the same love,
Changed in but one way,
Built by the sharing of strife.

Miracle Needed, Desperately.

http://www.chronicletimes.com/story/1550620.html

http://www.spencerdailyreporter.com/story/1581991.html

http://www.stormlakepilottribune.com/story/1585591.html

I have only met Zailin once and do not know his family well. The family members who offer him a place to stay when he visits Omaha for medical treatment are dear friends of mine. That is how I have become interested in Zailin and his family.

I have been told that Zailin's time is drawing to an end. The tumor has always been inoperable, but now their time is short, too. There is no power on earth that can save this little boy, or his family.

His parents have asked for healing. If you believe in the power of spirit, of prayer, of anything outside yourself, please ask for healing for Zailin and his family. Only a miracle can save them.

Please help heal Zailin and his family.

Quill #56 - Policy (Sept. 1, 2010)

She was the kind of person who tried to stock goodness for a rainy day,
As if she believed she'd need lots extra for some personal holocaust of evilness in her final days,
Or worried about an accidental changing of her ways that would strike thousands dead
And she needed to pre-compensate by saving their souls times a power of ten.
She took the Boy Scout motto to unreasonable heights when it came to afterlife insurance.
But she wasn't trying to be paid for eternity,
And she wasn't paying past due bills with love.
I would have liked to know what her Nemesis was doing to make her work so hard when she was dying,
Already sure of her destination.

Quill #52 - Trim (2010)

Fifteen years I spent growing that braid. Brushed it often, kept my
Hair soft and strong, all one length and even. In that space of time,
I lost my mother, buried my father, moved four times, raised a
Daughter, said farewell to a son, gained a grandchild, his loving
Mama, lost Grandma, two aunts, cousin to cancer, developed
Diabetes and heart disease. Three pets died, gained two more and,
In all that time, I never thought I would cut it again so
Casually, as if it meant nothing to me, when that was
My only pride but how could you say no to a child without
Tresses at all? I sent fifteen inches, one for each year, to
Locks of Love, through the salon. And they sent me a postcard that
I should frame and hang, saying thank you, thank you, for growing hair,
A most valued skill. I wonder what the child will look like who
Wears the empty space from around my head, and whether fifteen
Inches will bring them, like reverse voodoo, fifteen years more life.

Quill #51 - My Love, My Lady Love (Jan, 1982)

Upon a hill there is a house
Surrounded by a grove
Wth relatives all gathered close
To see my lady love.

Her little house is neat and clean,
No speck of dust within.
A nicer house cannot be seen
And still be built by men.

Today it is her wedding day
And yet she sits in gloom,
And all the world is dark and grey
For I am not her groom.

For on the hill there is a house
Surrounded by a grove,
With relatives all gathered close,
And therein lies my love.

Quill #50 - Pumpkin (2010)

She has a new love in her life,
And I'm happy for her.
I want her to experience
All the joys,
All the love,
All the freedom and laughter,
Everything wonderful in huge quantities,
More than I did,
More than any before her.
It is not jealousy that binds my heart
And causes my eyes to leak.
It is knowing how little time
I have left to spend with her.

-----

Song nears its ending,
Lilting flowers to my ears,
I hug my daughter.

Bird flies free with wind,
Speeding over bright meadows.
My feet wear stone shoes.

Pumpkin seed flowers
Into handsome orange fruit.
Stem will soon be cut.

-----

To be a healer is a sacred gift.
There are rules and vows,
Years of studious work,
Even then, many guesses.
To save a life, cure ills,
These are precious talents.
No real skill is required to
Become a mother but
You can't save a life
That was never given.

Quill #43 - Whither (2000)

West of the Westward Arch,
Past Giant Muddy,
Under pines on flint hills,
Cranes stand watching me.

Sitting on fallen trunks,
I feel the Turtle
Channeling rich black mud.
Its spirit calls me.

"Let flow the grave regrets."
"Leave tearful endings."
"Shower the world with bliss,"
Manitous whisper.

"Someday this ache will end."
"Pain is but fleeting."
"Your heart will fill again;
All will be mended."

Still I sit silently,
Questing to hear him,
A voice I'll never know
On this world again.

I want his comforting;
Need his caresses.
My hand goes out to him,
Catching a zephyr.

Can he come back to me,
One of these moments?
Will he hold my soul in
His strong arms again?

Out of the woods beneath,
Katydids stop,
Calling me back from deep
Echoes of longing.

Where has he gone, my love?
Will I soon follow?
Tears drop upon my face;
The sky is weeping.

Tree splits before my eyes.
Lightning has struck it.
Low thunder mocks my cries.
I run to my car.

Safe in my sacred space,
I turn on static,
Waiting for messages
Sent by the storm god.

"Don't look into the past."
"Live in the moment."
"Enjoy the happiness
Gathered on this day."

Nothing is coming through,
None of the lessons.
Living is such a chore
Till this tempest ends.

I hear him call my name;
From river dirges.
My cell phone chirps to me.
Which song should I heed?

I see a ray of light
Flash through my window.
I know who should guide me.
And then, I follow.

Quill #40 - Haiku-shaped poems for Zailin (2010)

Late blooming lotus
Dies in deep winter's embrace.
No promise of spring.

-----

A stone's longest skip
Will not prevent him sinking
Beside his brothers.

-----

Brave little boy runs,
Chasing after butterflies
He will never catch.

-----

Caped crusader comes
To save his parents from fear.
He hugs them too tight.

Quill #39 - Hero's Journey (2010)

Annoyed by the tick of a clock I cannot see,
I hear a countdown in my head
Of decisions lost in time and age.
My toes crackle and pop as I wiggle,
Trying to restore circulation and warm them.
It would be easy to despair
Over the days I was given to waste,
But a little boy calls to me from another room,
A young child with everything to live for,
Precious little memory,
And too few moments left to spend.
It is desperately unfair to him
That his presence teaches joy
In lessons he will never get to know.
No dreams of president or astronaut,
Nor baseball player, racing cars.
For him, the clock in his head
Is already sounding alarms and ringing bells,
But there is no fireman to save him from the din.
There is only love and toys,
And a seed that keeps growing larger
In luxuriously fertile ground.

Quill #37 - Haiku for JK (1994)

-----

Happy Birthday, Dear Daughter!

Quill #29 - Curtains! (2010)

Hey!
You!
You!
Cat!
Stop it!
Stop!
Dang it!
Stupid cat!
No!
No.
I'm not going to pet you.
I'm mad at you.
You...
Quit purring.