Tag: Seasons

Wandering Writings

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

More On Birds

Whoosh! I connected the sound.

Though all of my menagerie of feathered friends take to flight at the slightest movement or sound (except maybe the robins), departing sparrows are most noticeable simply due to their numbers. I had not recognized until this week that they make a collective sound as they depart from the bushes and ground just outside my living room window. I suppose my hearing devices pick up the whoosh better than with just my unaided hearing, but I was taken aback when I realized the soft sound was associated with their flight. Now I notice it all the time. Fun!

Goldfinches

American Goldfinches are hereby added to the menagerie. They are less noticeable in the winter when the males lose their golden color and thus blend in with the sparrows and other finches. But I was able to recognize them in the birch tree, feeding on its seed pods as they dangle, totally exposed, from the leafless branches.

Goldfinches are a treat, both visually and acoustically. Our neighborhood includes many echinacea plantings that produce a thistle-like seed pod at the center of their flowers – a favorite of the goldfinch. Goldfinches stay here the year round and I do enjoy their songs. You can listen by clicking the link above.

More On Bluebirds

One more note regarding bluebirds. Last week’s post instilled in me a desire to set My Little Bluebird to music. I listened to their songs on the link included previously and am attempting to emulate and include them, currently with chord progressions that I hope to put with the words. I’m thinking it’s going to take some massaging of the verse to make it work, but I look forward to creating something new and meaningful.

More on birds
January Thaw

Ecclesiastes 1:9

What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Book of Ecclesiastes, New Revised Standard Version

I think of this verse often as I ponder what to write to you about each week. I am self-aware enough to realize that my musings are simply different ways of expressing the same thoughts and feelings, observations and sensations, that humans, and maybe other animals and plants, have experienced since time began. I am self-centered and bold enough to express them anyway!

The wisdom in this verse also applies, and I think of this often also, to what’s going on in the world around us. I remember, many years ago (like back in the ’60s and ’70s) trying to impress upon my dad the tenuous times we were in. He would always respond that all which I mentioned, wars, floods, earthquakes, climate change, etc. have been with mankind since the beginning. It does not portend the end of the world.

Fifty plus years later, I think I understand and accept that he was right. Unfortunately, just because it’s nothing new, nor does our current global “situation” necessarily mean the end of mankind, nor that it has all happened before and the deeds being done repeat previous mistakes, make it easier to accept and deal with individually or collectively. When will we ever learn?! (scroll down to listen)

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9

January Thaw

After one of the harshest beginnings to a new year, with record-breaking snow totals, January appears to be going out like a lamb here in eastern Iowa. I listened to the snowmelt dripping from the downspout each time I woke last night. I’m sure I’ll hear it again tonight as there is still plenty of snow on the roof and temperatures are predicted to remain above freezing. Additionally, we have a 100% chance of rain later today and into the night (Thursday). Rain! In January!

Add to that the dense fog that lingers all day as the humidity level stays nearly equal to the ambient temperature, a result of the melting snow. Sure beats sub-zero cold! Hopefully, February will take the hint and keep up the “nice” weather.

Still, cabin fever is setting in. But with daytime temperatures in the 30’s and maybe even 40’s next week, I am braving the weather for some outside walks. The brisk air is refreshing and still preferable to inside exercise.

The combination of cabin fever and temperate weather give me incentive to plan for travels again. Thus, I have a plan for the time around the second anniversary of Pam’s passing. Another trip to “her” bridge. Last year’s adventure was just that. You may recall I had to abandon my camping trip due to severe weather. This year, no camping. Rather I plan to visit other places along the way that I have wanted to return to.

Another trip south to visit my family, especially my Mother, around Atlanta is also in the works. Hopefully, this will become another adventure including new destinations along the way. I am also planning a special trip to celebrate a milestone birthday somewhere I can camp and hike. I’m looking into going east instead of west. No decisions yet.

January thaws are nothing new either. I am, however, happy to be looking forward to spring and summer. Happy to think of successfully making it through a second winter alone. Barring any unforeseen calamities, it appears that I will. And this winter will have been a much better one than its predecessor.

May the rest of your winter be healthy and hopeful.

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

Lost And Found In The Music

Happy holidays to you all! And an honest hope for a happy, healthy, and peaceful 2024!

I woke up Christmas morning with the realization that I had, in deed, been anxious about the coming holiday. I thought I was done with this level of anxiety subsequent to my recent travels and family events. Not so. I didn’t understand why my blood pressure was still higher than normal nor why I found it difficult to sit still during the day or go to sleep at night.

Sure. I know the tendencies of those who grieve to be affected by holidays and anniversaries. I’ve lived it. But I thought I was really doing better. Didn’t I just write about it? So what gives!?

Doesn’t matter. It is so. I cried. No, I wailed. Over and over as the morning passed and the rain (not snow) continued to fall, and the wind continued to blow.

The well-wishes started to light up my phone. “Thinking of you.” “Merry Christmas, Keith.” “Hope your day goes well.” All nice, warm sentiments that I appreciated very much. Knowing that family and friends understood my sorrow forced smiles in the midst of sadness.

By late morning, though, not knowing what to do or how to create a happier day, I found that I wanted to play music. I’ve been practicing with my Alvarez Yairi recently, so I unsheathed it from its case, tuned it, and began to play. First were songs for and about Pam. After all, it is she who I honor on Christmas more that any deity. For she loved the celebration of the holidays so.

So I played. And I played some more. I was lost in my music. Not necessarily playing well. I hadn’t been practicing much lately. It didn’t matter. I was in touch with the sound and the origins of the lyrics that meant so much to me, and that I did write them. I played for an hour. And then another. Taking breaks to rest my hands and voice, wetting my whistle, eating snacks.

From my travels: Lolo Pass, I Look Away, Parkersburg.
Family; loves and losses: When Comes the Time, Rae J, Tell Elizabeth I Love Her, Sarah’s Song.
And, of course, my Pamie Sue: She Sleeps, The Song I Never Wrote For You, Our Lives In Love, Anything To Please.
And many, many more. Covers of Cat Stevens, The Moody Blues, Simon and Garfunkel.

On I played throughout the day. It felt good. I felt better. And I remembered the commitment I made to Pam, shortly after her death, to pursue the music. To follow through with the dream. To give to others that which I have to give. Not amazing, artistic greeting cards as was Pam’s gift, but my music, both old and new. To share myself and those in my life with anyone who will listen and relate, or just enjoy the sound.

The more I played, the more I realized that I am fulfilling that dream. Music is the one constant, the one calming, honest, and true gift that I have to hold onto as I learn to live on my own, without my Pam. And it is due to her that I have been free to write and play for the past almost 30 years. She has been my muse, my inspiration, my collaborator, and my fan.

Now I prepare for the next chapter in what has become the life of a singer songwriter – my life. I have been looking forward to it for a very long time. I have thirteen new, unrecorded, original songs and 6-8 covers that I hope to record over the next few months. Hopefully, I’ll be done by Spring, ready to “hit the road” armed with hours of live music to share. And there are several completed songs that I have yet to practice, to prepare them for performance and recording. Several additional in-progress songs also await in the fringes of my repertoire. I hope I get to them all.

Finding my voice in my music brings me joy and satisfaction. I celebrate my life with Pam, and without her. Being lost in the music is a good thing. I find solace and comfort, able to forget the anxiety of loss during the holidays, and of the challenges that lie ahead. At least for a while, while I play.

Maybe you, too, may find some comfort or consolation. Lost and found in the music.

Still it is difficult to grasp that she is gone.

Words – Impacting Our Lives

If you did not read last week’s post, Dream Within a Dream, I recommend that you do so before continuing here.

Family gatherings such as weddings, funerals, and reunions, evoke normal emotions of joy, sadness/loss, and “Wow! I haven’t seen her/him forever. My how they’ve changed.” Often, however, they bring deep-seated, maybe suppressed, feelings to the surface. Sometimes they erupt with power and major fallout. Sometimes they rise to the surface and are shared as either fond memories, or with trepidation.

Coming together as a sibling team to transition our Mother to memory care was such an occasion. All preparations culminated in a smooth transfer, even some elation, as we sat around the house reviewing what transpired, and discussing our myriad of emotions.

Over sixty years ago our father died at the age of 37. My eldest sister was 13, followed by another, age nine. I was seven, and my little sister was four. Our young lives were in complete disarray, to say the least. So many confusing events and emotions that children should not have to face, but often do.

It was a few days after Mom’s transfer that our emotional history surfaced when our “little” sister relayed her long-held traumatic experience. “After daddy died we were given a contest on who could be the most help to Mom. At 4 I could not begin to compete… I’ve never felt I could do enough or be enough help.“

My eldest sister responded, “ Interesting about contest-you have probably been trying to catch up your whole life!!!!” And my other sister, “I remember the competition. I cleaned out my drawers over and over again. Maybe that’s why I don’t do it anymore.” The youngest, “I remember you vacuuming.”

My contribution; “And I am still convinced that Mom telling me I had to be the man of the family instilled in me a perfection complex and that I could never do enough or get it right.” My younger sister’s response, “Yes and this role you have now fits right into that. And I didn’t want the role because at some level I felt I couldn’t do it.“

My uncle (my Father’s brother) told me years later that he always felt guilty for telling me that “God needed your daddy more that we do“, thinking that it caused some of my adolescent and young adult challenges. I totally let him off the hook when I told him it was what Mom had said that left the lasting impression.

Though my eldest sister did not relay any deep-held reactionary words, knowing her and with a few faint memories, I am sure that she, being several years older than the rest of us, naturally took on the role of surrogate mother, trying to help our overwhelmed, grieving Mother. Mom had been a stay-at-home mother and was thrust into the role of family provider. Thankfully, her friends came to her aid with a job and other assistance. But my sister was often the oldest person at home. I can also attest that she later raised two amazing daughters of her own. Along with her natural bent, she clearly learned much from her early, traumatic experience.

Yet more impactful words:

Eldest sister – “And Daddy telling J to take care of M!!!“
Middle sister – “Those were his final words to me.“
I chimed in – “And Mom’s first words to me.”
Middle – ” I was thinking that Keith!“
Eldest – “Pretty heavy trips to lay on children!“

Though much of this history was known to us, the vivid memories, complete with mental pictures/video of the events, have rarely been shared all at once and together. This single horrific event was amplified and indelibly printed on our brains – with lifelong impact – by our elder family’s words.

As I look back on my family relationships and rearing my children, I know I have my own gaffs to come to terms with. I’m sure we all do. By this time in our lives, I assume that my sisters and I hold no grudges against those adults in our lives as they were doing the best they could. Imperfectly, as we all are.

But it’s something to consider. Are there unresolved consequences of our words and actions on our parents, siblings, spouses, children? On my part, I hope those I have impacted understand that I never set out to hurt anyone. There are few people who do.

And now I’m off to visit many of those people to celebrate the holidays. For me it is really about celebrating our relationships with each other. I am thankful for each and every one. And I hope that for those whose relationships I may have broken, I might still make amends.

May your holiday season be merry and bright. And may those who love you, and those you love, express impactful words of love and, if necessary, understanding and forgiveness!

Anything and Nothing

Musing to my sister of my difficulty deciding on what to write, she suggested I write about nothing. I could write about anything; too broad. Nothing; too narrow.

Where does that leave me? I guess I’ll try writing anything about nothing in particular. But what does that look like? How would it sound? What can I show that you would want to see?

Samuel Clemens, later known as Mark Twain was born in Florida, Missouri on November 30th 1835. He died on April 21st 1910. Both his birth and death coincided with the perihelion of Halley’s Comet. You can read a short, but interesting bio here. Do you know how he came about with the name Mark Twain? I’ve always been intrigued by these tidbits of trivia.

Writing about domestic politics and issues, or world events, is too fraught with diverse and conflicting opinions to share my thoughts and opinions thereof. It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World! Different subject, but it sounds right.

I’m having even more trouble than usual getting into the holiday spirit. I’ve never been good at it on my own, but Pam made it exciting and fun by her joy and enthusiasm, and her loving, giving nature. I don’t think I’m a scrooge. I don’t use any form of the term “bah, humbug”, but I suppose that I come across that way sometimes.

By this date of the year, we would already have at least one card table set up with scotch tape dispensers (Yes, multiple. Got to have the double-sided variety too.), ribbon spools, straight and squiggle-cutting scissors, you get the idea. And it’s not just the big gifts. It’s the little “stocking stuffers” that often delighted her most.

I left home with four inches of snow on the ground. It was a deep and wide swath, as I was through Missouri and into southern Illinois before the last traces disappeared in the fields and in the wooded hills. Enjoying the landscape and topography along the highways and byways as I drive is still a life’s little pleasure for me. I am constantly reminded of how much Pam enjoyed the scenery and we so enjoyed experiencing our travels together.

I also realized on Thursday the extent to which caring for Pam during her illness and grieving for her (and myself) after her death, zapped my energy. Now, however, I am being energized, and I like to think it is her universal energy, through pleasant memories of her, and of our life together. I recognize how her energy enlivens me still. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but I think it does put salve on the wound.

I hope to have something specific to write about next week, rather than anything about nothing. I will try to convey the experience of transitioning my Mother from home care to memory care. But it may be too raw to put into words yet at that time. Meanwhile I continue to consider topics to write about because I enjoy the writing. And based on reader responses, you enjoy it too.

Well, I kind of wrote about anything. But it turned out not to be about nothing. Now that I think about it, that’s difficult to do. If you get nothing out of the reading but enjoyment, that’s something too. In fact, that’s everything my writing is about. And that’s not nothing either.

Another Season

Driving the back roads toward central Iowa this week, I was reminded again of the beauty in the changing seasons. Giant, rolled hay bales break up the landform of freshly harvested, stubble fields. Machinery still dots tire-track paths around them.

And the trees! I was lucky to have picked this week to travel. Last week would have been too soon. Next week the cold and wind will bring down most of the colored leaves in the trees and turn those remaining, brown and brittle. As viewing goes, this year’s turning is, in my opinion, above average, with the full range of greens, yellows, oranges, reds, and browns splattered on the clear blue canvas sky, in contrast to plain tan/brown fields at the feet of trees on the hill tops and along the waterways. These pics were taken on my return trip. A cloudy day with periods of spitting rain.

(There is more to read after these pictures)

Near the Iowa River
Cemetery Road

Two recordings came to mind while driving and gawking at the wonders of nature. The first is Leaves That Are Green by Simon and Garfunkel. Beautiful poetry! Kind of sad. Light and lilt tune.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I’m twenty-two now, but I won’t be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripples run away
And they never made a sound
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Hello, hello, hello, hello
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
That’s all there is
And the leaves that are green turn to brown

Simon and Garfunkel

The other “song” is The Dream from On the Threshold of a Dream album by The Moody Blues. I’m sure I’ve quoted The Moody Blues in prior posts. So many of their songs spoke to me in my youth and young adulthood. Shout out to Sam who suggested To Our Children’s, Children’s, Children as the first vinyl album I ever bought. At one point, I’m sure I owned a copy of them all! My brother, Bruce, always suggests their earlier music, pre-Justin Hayward. Also good stuff. He also gave me an excellent Moody Bluegrass album.

When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead
And the browns, reds and golds of autumn lye in the gutter dead
Remember then the summer birds with wings of fire flame
Come to witness springs new hope, born of leaves decaying
And as new life will come from death

Love will come at leisure
Love of love, love of life and giving without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn for promise almost seen
Live hand in hand and together we’ll stand
On the threshold of a dream

The Moody Blues

Also previously mentioned, nearly everything I experience on a daily basis reminds me of a song or some music. Or, in moments of revelation, I create my own. Simply said, I love music!

“To everything there is a (another)…“

Ecclesiastes (and The Byrds)

On Thursday, a neighbor showed me a picture of our neighborhood, taken from a drone, showing the fall colors. Beyond the Field Day Brewing Company building and condos are our homes. I can see the red-leafed tree in my back yard, and the one in the picture leading this post! Amazing photograph and colors. Enjoy!