M e n a g e r i e

The Devil is in the Details

2012-02-02T12:10:00.000-05:00

A growing number of Catholic bishops have said they will not comply with the Obamacare mandate the administration implemented in January. The mandate forces religious employers to pay for birth control and contraception (including drugs that may cause abortions) in their health care plans:

"We cannot – we will not comply with this unjust law. People of faith cannot be made second-class citizens. We are already joined by our brothers and sisters of all faiths and many others of good will in this important effort to regain our religious freedom. Our parents and grandparents did not come to these shores to help build America’s cities and towns, its infrastructure and institutions, its enterprise and culture, only to have their prosperity stripped of their God given rights. In generations past, the Church has always been able to count on the faithful to stand up and protect her sacred rights and duties. I hope she can trust on this generation of Catholics to do the same. Our children and grandchildren deserve nothing less."

Setting all politics aside (and we must if we are to truthfully and effectively approach and address such intrinsically right-wrong issues), the citizens of the United States should be extremely concerned and wary of what is transpiring, little by little, within the present administration. Make no mistake about it, this particular issue is not simply about contraception. It is not a political party loyalty issue. It is not a Catholic issue. It is an American issue. It is a conscience issue, and it infringes upon the rights of every individual, regardless of religious expression, regardless of one's stand on contraception or abortion; and no man, no government has the right to interfere in a relationship between a man, his conscience and his God. No government has the right to force its citizens to violate conscience. No government has the authority to force its citizens to choose between faith and livelihood. Simply speaking, no government has the right to interfere with the teachings of the church: "Render therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." (Matthew 22: 15 - 21).

The government’s responsibility is to adhere to the Constitution and secure its citizens’ rights, not to enforce pseudo safeguards under the guise of “freedoms” and “services” and “women’s health issues” which are in actuality ultimately designed to chip away at our God-given rights. But this administration cares nothing about God-given rights inherent to all men. This administration prefers engaging in semantics. This administration is abusing its power.

Furthermore, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof…”. Does this sound familiar? It should. It is the first amendment to the Constitution of the United States—that same Constitution to which the President of the United States affirms loyalty at his inauguration:

"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Really Mr. Obama?

WORTH NOTING

The following ponderous statements (put forth in July of 1968) bear some serious consideration, not only as regards the so-called "contraception mandate" of Obamacare, but in discerning to whom we (should or should not) allow moral direction.

Excerpts from the ENCYCLICAL LETTER HUMANAE VITAE

OF THE SUPREME PONTIFF PAUL VI

"17. Finally, careful consideration should be given to the danger of this power passing into the hands of those public authorities who care little for the precepts of the moral law. Who will blame a government which in its attempt to resolve the problems affecting an entire country resorts to the same measures as are regarded as lawful by married people in the solution of a particular family difficulty? Who will prevent public authorities from favoring those contraceptive methods which they consider more effective? Should they regard this as necessary, they may even impose their use on everyone. It could well happen, therefore, that when people, either individually or in family or social life, experience the inherent difficulties of the divine law and are determined to avoid them, they may give into the hands of public authorities the power to intervene in the most personal and intimate responsibility of husband and wife."

Quite prophetic, no?

"23. And now We wish to speak to rulers of nations. To you most of all is committed the responsibility of safeguarding the common good. You can contribute so much to the preservation of morals. We beg of you, never allow the morals of your peoples to be undermined. The family is the primary unit in the state; do not tolerate any legislation which would introduce into the family those practices which are opposed to the natural law of God. For there are other ways by which a government can and should solve the population problem—that is to say by enacting laws which will assist families and by educating the people wisely so that the moral law and the freedom of the citizens are both safeguarded."

The conviction of the founding fathers, held in the highest regard, was that all men, all governments are subject to the Word of God. This was of utmost importance to them; so much so, that Thomas Jefferson begins The Declaration of Independence

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed."

This is no small matter. And it is not an issue solely unto itself. It is the beginning of, what I feel to be, a most difficult path ahead for people of faith. We often ask ouselves “What would I do if…?”. The time to answer is upon us.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

2011-10-01T12:03:00.004-05:00

As I enter the autumn of (my) life I tend to focus on the coming winter rather than allowing myself to enjoy and participate fully in the beauty of autumn. And what a shame it is when I yield to that darker side, for autumn has always been my fondest season, even as a child!

Yet I believe that each moment in our lives is a gift; the good, the bad and especially the ugly. We can make of them what we will. Take them for granted, disconnect them from our lives as just "things" that happen, discount them as unimportant; fear them, hate them for the discomfort and inconvenience they cause, mindlessly plod through them, blame them on “Someone” simply being mean or cruel or uncaring, or even wish them away. I have done most of these things at one time or another. I'm certain everyone has. It is human nature, but is it wise? I, myself, have become more concerned, at times, about the state of the world and, more intimately, the state of my life. I seem more anxious at times, wanting things to be just so, wanting and needing to make amends, to live life to the fullest, to “fight the good fight”. It is only natural to feel concern and sadness in one's life, but it can sometimes be difficult not to let everything build into a full blown weltschmerz!

I don't think we live life to the fullest, add clarity or glean the importance of a moment in time (thereby discovering how awesome life is) and reap its benefits by just tossing it aside because we don't understand it or find it distasteful. If we try to hide from the bad and the ugly, we end up not recognizing what is good (you can't have one without the other, because all of these moments are part of a whole, and each is relative to the other). We don't appreciate the value of life and lose enjoyment in even the smallest of pleasures; we become bitter and resentful and sad; Our lives are made up of the amalgamation of all three. Each of these moments, our moods, experiences and cherished—or not so cherished—memories helps us to grow into the people we are meant to be.

There is comfort in knowing that each of us has a purpose, that we are not designed to go through life alone, mucking our way through the bad and ugly to realize that purpose and find the good. ("Therefore encourage one another and build each other up..." 1 Thessalonians 5:11). We have others with whom we are connected in so many ways we do not always recognize, and who are there to help us, sometimes in ways they do not even realize. To me, life is no accident. We have a watchful Guide, leading us on the paths we have chosen to travel. What better encouragement for embracing all the facets of our extraordinary human nature. So, perhaps a proverbial word to the wise?

It is no mere adage that time (seemingly) passes more quickly as we age. It has become so precious, and while there are days less perfect than others, I will never wish away any day, no matter how bad or ugly it may seem. All of my life I have heard “with age comes wisdom”. It could be that it is more accurate to say that as we age we become more aware, thereby learning the value of time. Perhaps therein lies the wisdom.

Synthesis

Autumn has come quickly
It both startles and assures me
Hence I shall not be afraid,
For the path I have chosen remains
In perfect harmony with the seasons—
Unified, though each a part unto its own
Bursting forth in fluctuating hues,
From brilliant, coolest argentine
To the fiery red heat of vermilion

This mélange of moods and colors,
Experiences, memories and remnants
Of an earlier time varies from day to day,
Molding, reshaping who I am,
Enhancing my simple existence—
As a wild pumpkin might adorn
A quiet woodland patch of green

*(Along with this entry, I have made the decision to change the name of this blog from "Rantings of a Mad Poet" to "Menagerie". Since it is a collection of writings, poetry, thoughts and emotions, questions and, hopefully, some answers, I felt it should be aptly named. A complete collection of this blog may be found in book form in the bookstore at Blurb. Volumes I and II are available for purchase, and Volume III is in production now. I hope you like the name and enjoy the new setup)

*(Thank you to Connie Marcum-Wong, moderator of the PFT [Poetry for Thought] poetry group, for her poetry challenge suggestion to use the words mélange, remnant, argentine, vermilion, path, harmony, adorn, woodland, pumpkin, unified in a poem. These lovely and inspirational words led me to write "Synthesis", which, in turn, led me to deeper thinking, which led me to this blog entry. All of these actions together became, for me, another illustration that we are all somehow (and, at times, unknowingly) connected.

Hello, Nature Calling

2011-05-20T09:44:00.000-05:00

Being born a Jack-A-Bee (Beagle/Jack Russell mix), Bernie is not lacking in quirks. If laughter is the best medicine, my husband and I are quite healthy, as not a day goes by that we have not chuckled at something she has done.

Going outside for nature's call has produced a series of very funny behaviors. When it's a simple matter of watering the grass, Bernie will usually stand at the door staring at it, nose pointed upwards, willing it to open; or she just stares at me "loudly" like Eddie on Frasier—that "Jack Russell stare"—making a hoarse whispering sound (her "inside voice", which I am now sorry I taught her) until I let her out. It's a comical, albeit annoying sound and always yields the desired result.

When she really means business it is quite another scenario and, frankly, an odd routine. Because of the coyotes which frequent our rural area, we do not let her out at night alone. In the winter it can be an especially long and uncomfortable experience.

When Bernie feels the urge, she wanders into my office and remains for approximately 30 seconds. We have no idea what actually happens in there, and have never been able to catch her in time to discover that. She suddenly runs through the beads hanging at the office door, full speed ahead, their wooden clacking startling all, and stares at us with that "IT'S COMING!" look of horror on her face—the same look that used to be on my children's faces when they were newly potty-trained toddlers.

Once outside one would think that, being such an emergency, she would get to it. But Bernie must slowly—walk—the—grounds sniffing every blade of grass to see who might have recently used her bathroom. She stands still as a statue, listening, smelling the air. When she finally gets around to the job at hand, of course she must find the perfect spot. She sniffs, scratches, circles around, then, finally the stance. But is that spot good enough? Off she goes again, sniffing and scratching. Just when I think it's all about to happen she gets in position and then decides that's not the right spot after all. So, in mid-squat, she scoots across the grass looking like a hunchbacked kangaroo, sniffing, resting, scratching, hopping on her two back legs to the next patch of grass and finally takes care of the business at hand. Then, with the same urgency as before, she begins barking like a mad dog, as if I had left her out too long: Hey! I'm done here and I'm cold! Let's go inside and get my good dog treat!

Good Friday

2011-04-22T15:33:00.002-05:00

What if we took just one moment from our busy days to recall Him Who, thousands of years later, the world has all but forgotten? He and His story have been reduced to a children’s fairy tale. Nor is He given a serious thought. After all, we are masters of our own lives and we have the free will to do whatever we please. Do we even give a thought about Who gave us that free will?

The world has become bored with His story, uninterested and numb to the pain, the excruciating torture, which was not forced upon Him but which He endured willingly for us. Do you want love? Here it is, but it has no place in our world today. We have neither the time nor the desire. And each time we brush Him aside, we scourge Him again.

Let contemplation of a moment which changed life forever saturate our souls. Let us give that moment its proper place in our world. Let us, with full intention and attention, take the time to sit quietly today or Saturday and think only of Christ. Do we have five free minutes? Perhaps today will be the day we take down that little dusty box, where we keep God neatly in His place until we really need Him, and behold the treasure inside. Let us prepare our hearts and our very lives for Christ’s entrance on Easter morning, when He breaks through the stone cold tomb of sin and into our lives, and we can truly proclaim “Christ is Risen!” without shame, without embarrassment, in Truth and in all joy! Do you want a reality story, something more inspiring and remarkable than any “reality” we can see on TV? Here it is. Do you want something relevant? Here it is. Do you wonder where the "good" is in Good Friday? Here it is. Do you want Truth? Here it is:

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch that doesn't produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more. You have already been pruned for greater fruitfulness by the message I have given you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful apart from me. Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing. Anyone who parts from me is thrown away like a useless branch and withers. Such branches are gathered into a pile to be burned. But if you stay joined to me and my words remain in you, you may ask any request you like, and it will be granted! My true disciples produce much fruit. This brings great glory to my Father. I have loved you even as the Father has loved me. Remain in my love. When you obey me, you remain in my love, just as I obey my Father and remain in his love. I have told you this so that you will be filled with my joy. Yes, your joy will overflow!

John 15: 1-11

Easter in the Byzantine Catholic Church

2011-04-12T12:10:00.011-05:00

Lent

We normally go through our day-to-day lives without much thought about what we are doing. But lent provides direction and meaning; it is not just "having to give up" something. There are actually three elements which work together. Prayer, the first, is simply communication with God. We cannot get to know people without first talking with them, trying to understand "where they are coming from". We can't even begin to understand the Church without first knowing its Founder. Prayer brings tradition and meaning to the things we do. It gives us the strength to fast. And through our fasting, we are led to share our abundance with others (almsgiving).

Fasting is a very ancient tradition of the Church. There isn't much point in fasting just for the sake of fasting, to see how much food we can go without. A true fast should bring about the desire to change, and actually acting on it. When we feel hunger from fasting from food, it should remind us of our hunger for God and all that is Truth.

When we pray and fast, we should normally come to the desire to give, almsgiving. It was Christ's way of life and if we are Christians, it should be ours. Through prayer, we "contact" and listen to God. Through our fasting, or an emptying of ourselves to fill it with God, we come to a deeper conversion. And through both prayer and fasting, we come to the realization that the needs of others are the responsibility of all. In that same context, I have long loved this quote by author, George Eliot: What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?

The Tradition of Easter Basket Blessing

The blessing of food at Easter has been passed down from the Carpatho-Rusyn people, my ancestors of the Byzantine Catholic Church (and other Slavic groups). Originally, people kept a strict fast, not eating any meat or dairy products for the entire season of Lent (today the fast and abstinence rules are much more relaxed). At Easter, as we do today, the people took the food items that they had not eaten during Lent to church to be blessed. These Easter, or "paschal foods", hold great significance in that they are the foods God had prescribed for the ancient Passover meal—lamb, bread, wine and bitter herbs, and represent the spiritual feast awaiting us after our deaths, at Christ’s table.

Easter Basket Contents:

“Pascha” (Easter bread) is an egg-rich bread, baked in the round; represents Christ, the "living bread".

Meat Products (such as ham, veal, pork, lamb): represent the Old Testament sacrificial animals (which were a foreshadowing of the sacrifice of Christ).

Dairy Products (such as butter, cheese, egg cheese [hrutka], cooked and decorative eggs) are symbolic of prosperity and peace. The butter is usually formed into the shape of a lamb and represents Christ, the Lamb of God who was offered on the altar of the Cross for our salvation. Eggs have always been considered a symbol of the resurrection, the emergence of new life, Christ coming forth from the tomb as a chick from the broken egg.

Horseradish (and other bitter foods such as vinegar, sour cream, etc.) represent the bitterness of Christ's passion; and when mixed with sweet, red beets, represent the blood He shed.

Salt Symbolizes the Truth of the message of Christ; as salt preserves food, so the teachings of Christ preserve our eternal life.

Chocolate Eggs/Candy allow children to be a real part of this celebration and share in the resurrection. The Church takes ordinary food and blesses it, making it and us holy as we eat of it. God's blessing changes us from children of natural descent into children of the Kingdom of God.

It has become customary to place a great variety of foods in the basket from which one has fasted during Lent. I have seen bottles of wine or beer, pop, cookies and even bags of McDonald's hamburgers or other fast food in Easter baskets. I think this is a fascinating and wonderful new custom which really brings the ancient tradition of blessing of foods into the modern world! How awesome, to be able to adapt such traditions to our contemporary, everyday lives.

*Side Note (I see this as evidence that the people, while taking part in centuries-old rites, truly can bring the Church into the modern world and make it relevant. We hear so much complaint about the Catholic Church not being "up-to-date". But it is the people who can change this by their attitude, their involvement, their voices, their creativity. We are so privileged to be able to carry on the works and practices and rituals of a Church born directly from the apostles' steadfast adherence to and teaching of the doctrines directly given to them by Christ. We should take pride in this rather than feeling embarrassed or put out or diminishing the value of such ancient customs. Delving into one's ancestry is all the rage these days. Why not go all the way, and see where we truly came from?)

The words “Christos Voskrese” (“Christ is Risen”) are sometimes printed on the cloth which covers the basket. The basket is taken to church where a candle placed in the basket is lighted during the blessing ceremony. After the Resurrection Services, the people greet each other with “Christos Voskrese!” and reply “Voistinnu Voskrese!” (“Christ Is Risen!” / “Indeed He Is Risen!”). The people either share their foods, then, at a breakfast with the other parishioners, or take the blessed food home to be shared with family. The meal begins with the head of the family dividing one blessed egg into enough portions for all family members, and an extra portion to remember all family members who have passed away. He gives a portion of the egg to each family member saying, “Christ is Risen!”, and they answer “Indeed He is Risen!”. What a wonderfully fulfilling and beautiful way to remember Christ in His death and resurrection, and our loved ones, who are all part of Him Who gave all, that we might live forever!

Happy Easter to all! Christ is Risen! Indeed He is Risen!

Easter Basket Prepared to Bless

Basket Blessing

St. John's Byzantine Catholic Church

Columbus, Ohio

(some information gleaned from http://carpathorusynsociety.org and www.stisidore-yubacity.org)

Celebrity

2011-02-19T10:33:00.000-05:00

Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.

(Author Unknown)

She has lost her luster,
this old movie star
about whom no one speaks anymore.
It's sad, really, how she once sparkled,
eliciting gasps and sighs
upon mere sight of her—
her entrances being quite grand.
Most loved her, but some knew
her true colors lurking deep within,
though whether loved or hated
she was never far out of mind.
Time does take its toll, however,
and if she once commanded respect,
she now is seldom worth a thought.
She is criticized, mocked
kicked and walked upon—even feared,
for we remember—and we do not...

Once, she had been admired for her beauty,
but now she is simply old and cold
and has worn out her welcome.
People want only to forget
how they were duped by her seeming magic.
She faded over time, as we all must,
but make no mistake, she is only sleeping.
When winter returns again
she will awaken, and cover the earth
with a blanket of jewels as beautiful
and fit for a Tiffany and Co. showcase as any gem.
And we will "Oh" and "Ah" once again,
mesmerized by her facade of beauty.
Fickle, fickle man!

Perfect Day

2011-02-16T10:56:00.000-05:00

Be not mindless/Of the mundane moments

While seemingly unimportant/They pass quickly,

Yet command/A lifetime of remembrance

Monica E. Smith

Perfect Day

I remember
when fun was a Saturday bus ride
to downtown with my sister
on a cold winter day
Excitement
was a Beatles album
surprisingly on sale for $3.99
at Higbee's Department Store,
the coveted place
I could never normally afford
on my teenage salary
Comfort
was a mid-morning cup of hot coffee
sipped with delight in a booth
at a Euclid Avenue coffee shop
as we reminisced
the still fresh experiences
of the morning, anticipating
the rest of the day to come
Satisfaction
was lunch at the Silver Grille
and exercise
was an all-day walk
around downtown Cleveland—
window-shopping, talking,
dreaming and planning
our next Saturday excursion—
But contentment
was the aroma of Morrow's Nut Shop
which lingered on the bus ride home
while we warmed our hands
on hot bags of fragrant, freshly roasted nuts
Each of us treasured
this fitting end to a perfect day—
A memento that would soon evanesce—
as would these precious times spent together

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas...

2011-01-05T12:20:00.000-05:00

I know you have experienced it, upon waking from a wonderful dream, the feeling that you did not want to wake up yet. And have you kept your eyes tightly closed, willing the dream to continue, willing yourself to remain asleep, willing that life created within your mind to continue? Have you tried with all your might to let it be so?

It is already the twelfth day of Christmas, and the final hours of the spirit of Christmas Present are upon us. I no longer find the winter wind invigorating and tolerable, merely uncomfortable, the once picturesque snowy hillsides simply cold and bleak; and I have spent the last week trying to remain asleep, trying my best to allow the warmth of Christmas to continue, trying not to awaken from the most wonderful Christmas I have experienced in many years—perhaps even since my (now grown) children were little, or maybe even since I was a child myself.

There have been years when Christmas came and went without much ado, when I seemed to simply go through the motions of preparation without much expectation or meaning, and was just as happy to pack away the season with its glittery accoutrement and forget about it for another year. There have been, sadly, Christmases past when I saw only the extra work mounted upon me. Not often, but there were times...

I don't know what changed this year that caused such joy in my heart during the season, and this great sadness that it is now over. Perhaps, as we age and come to a more profound belief of mortality, things we often have taken for granted—or in which we have shown little interest—become ever more consequential. Did I give the season a more spiritual significance? Perhaps. But, for me, honoring God and celebrating His Son's birth (and, thereby, our reclamation) have always been "the reason for the season". Without that, all the little things we do in preparation to make Christmas sparkle with excitement are simply things we do. They have no significance or impact.

I prepared for the holiday and celebrated with family as always. We ate and laughed and played as always, "for it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself..." (from "A Christmas Carol"). But perhaps there was one small difference which transformed everything for me this year.

I have always been enamored with, and have always made it a point to watch at least one of the "A Christmas Carol" productions each year. In the few weeks before Christmas, I kept hearing over and over in my head the words of Ebenezer Scrooge, upon his realization of what the gift of life really means, and what our response to, and responsibility in life is:

I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.

So I set out to give life to his pledge, thereby making it my own. There is a saying of St. John of the Cross that I have long loved and which has always resonated within me: "Where there is no love, put love -- and you will find love." This is not so different from Scrooge's declaration, is it? And, perhaps, that is how this Christmas was transformed for me, where this Christmas differed for me, where Christmas—or any day of the year—can differ for us all. I approached the season with love from beginning to end, in the decorations, the food I prepared, arranging special "events" and activities to share with others to mark the season, to elevate it from the ordinary. I put so much love into the things I did and experienced that I could hardly contain myself. And so, now that it is over—for this year— I am so filled that it has no place to spill over but in tears, as I think fondly of how we laughed and loved this Christmas.

I am not ready to awaken from the dream, or give up the ghost—of Christmas Past or otherwise—but I must be fully awake and aware of all the gifts of Christmas in order to let the dream live on. To ignore these gifts and lessons of Christmas would be much too costly. I think this is the way we should—must—approach not only Christmas, but every day on this earth, fully awake and aware, living (as I was recently reminded) each day truly as if it were our last, in full realization of the magnitude of the gift of life...

Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!...It is required of every man..."that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world -- oh, woe is me! -- and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!

Let it never be said of us that we did not know Christmas or the gifts it brings to us which live through the year. We can then begin to understand each other, who we are, where we are going, who God is. We are here for a purpose. Let us strive, with 'ol Ebenezer, to wake up and find that purpose, with each other...

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more...He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world...and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!

Peace, Merry Christmas and the Happiest of New Years!

Christmas in Logan County—Gifts of the Season

2010-12-17T13:03:00.005-05:00

Every now and then, everything falls into place. Yesterday was one such day...

It was a cold, snowy day, and I awoke thinking about all the things I needed to do before Christmas, planning and wondering if I would have enough time to accomplish all that I wanted. Of course, there is always time for a cup of coffee, so I sat in my favorite lounge chair with a hot cup and my dog by my side, making mental notes and plans for the day, the room heated by that penetrating, osmotic warmth only a wood fire can give.

Soon I was out and about, doing some Christmas grocery shopping, and feeling very merry. The weather was cold and crisp and all before me was laid out in a soft white blanket, compliments of a fresh snow which had fallen a couple days before. The roads had been plowed, for the most part, and the ones that were still snow-covered had been flattened by previous traffic, and were quite driveable. So on the way home, Christmas carols blaring in the car, singing at the top of my lungs, I took a detour and turned off on a snowy country road.

I immediately knew I had made the right decision. After mere minutes of taking the turn, I was rewarded with the most beautiful sights. My first stop was a small horse ranch, where I spied a beautiful chestnut horse in the distance. I immediately pulled to the side of the road and got out of the car to take some pictures. To my surprise, the horse stopped, looked at me and trotted over to the fence to get a closer look. So I did the same, being careful not to mis-step in the deep snow. She greeted me as if I were a long-lost friend, lowering her great head over the fence, nuzzling me and braying softly, staying with me quite a while, as if she couldn't get enough of my affection and attention. Before I realized it, her foal had galloped beside us as well, shaking its head and wondering what all the excitement was about. They both were clothed in their long winter coats, hair, mane and tails blowing in the winter wind. I don't remember actually seeing horses in their winter finery this closely, and they were beautiful. It seems I had made their day; they certainly had made mine. They stayed a few minutes, then gave a whinny and off they ran—but not before I had taken some photographs.

I continued driving and soon came upon a a logging camp. Somehow, this sight was unexpected. I drove slowly by, as it was quite interesting to watch the work being done, managing to take a bit of video and a snapshot from my car window as I passed. I found it intriguing, as this scene is something I might normally only experience on The Discovery Channel, perhaps as seen through the eyes of Mike Rowe from "Dirty Jobs". And here it was in my back yard. It seems that even in frigid, snowy weather, the world must go on. Or, perhaps, especially in frigid, snowy weather, the world must go on...

I have always been fascinated with trains and railroad tracks. And, for some reason, they are even more attractive and appealing in the context of a snowy winter—decorated with the greenery of pine trees, bony fingers of bare tree limbs that seem to be pointing the way to life—much like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come—the whispy dried brown briers and boskets peeking through the deep white snow on either side, and, yes, two deer who happened to cross the road just beyond the tracks, stopping briefly to consider me before bounding across the road, passing by a tiny covered bridge (red, of course) to the safety of the somewhat greener grass on the other side. No picture here—except in my memory—as I was too mesmerized by this "Christmas Card" to engage the camera!

I passed many farms of various sizes, beautifully decked out in the colors of the season. Somehow, there is something very Christmasy about a red barn in a snow-covered field, a hay wagon decorated with a green wreath. I think, living in the country, I sometimes take for granted the beauty that is all around me. These sights are before me always, but I sometimes do not see them. Like all people, I lose focus and sight of what is important, concentrating on my own problems and dissatisfactions and becoming so involved in the details or negative aspects of things in my life, missing the entire purpose and beauty of life, as a whole, altogether. I guess it's pretty much not seeing the forest for the trees...

A small detour became several hours before I realized I needed to get home to my dog, throw another log into the woodstove, turn on the Christmas tree lights and prepare supper for my husband and I. I had not meant to be gone so long, but the detour had become a found opportunity which filled me with the Christmas spirit through and through. It had been a good decision, which led to a better day and an even greater appreciation and enjoyment of God's special Christmas gift to His children.

Especially now, at Christmastime, there are gifts aplenty, gifts that anyone can afford, gifts more meaningful, more precious and more lovely than any amount of money can buy. The world is closer than you think—even as near as just outside your window, around the corner, or down a country road. I encourage you to explore the world of your surroundings and to experience the true gifts of this season or any season. I assure you it will be a memory not forgotten, one that gratifies the eyes, the ears, the soul.

Peace, and Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good, warm and memorable Christmas night.

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T11:50:00.013-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving!

We all know the story of the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving. After their first harvest, the colonists of the Plymouth Plantation held a celebration with food and feasting in the fall of 1621. There are many varied and contradictory versions of this story. But while there were other smaller "thanksgiving"/harvest festivities since this event, well before George Washington, it was Washington's original proclamation signed by him on October 3, 1789 which marked the day, " Thursday, November 26 as "A Day of Publick Thanksgiving and Prayer", and began the official reason for Thanksgiving Day, later to be made a national holiday by Abraham Lincoln on October 3, 1863.

At that time, Lincoln issued a proclamation which called for the observance of the fourth Tuesday of November as the national holiday. It was president Franklin D. Roosevelt who moved the holiday to the third Thursday of November—IN ORDER TO EXTEND THE CHRISTMAS SHOPPING SEASON IN AN EFFORT TO BOOST THE ECONOMY. (I guess politicians will always be politicians; they have a knack for removing significance from and cheapening even the sacred, all in the name of money ). In an effort to quell the storm of protests which arose from this action, Roosevelt again changed Thanksgiving in 1941 to the fourth Thursday in November, where it remains to this day.

Today I wish all of you a most content and happy celebration with family and friends, in the spirit so proclaimed by George Washington. May we "unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech Him...to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best." And may we be for God first and foremost, as He is for us. For "IF GOD BE FOR US WHO CAN BE AGAINST US?"--Romans 8:31

George Washington's 1789 Thanksgiving Proclamation

Whereas it is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor; and Whereas both Houses of Congress have, by their joint committee, requested me to "recommend to the people of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer, to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness:"

Now, therefore, I do recommend and assign Thursday, the 26th day of November next, to be devoted by the people of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being who is the beneficent author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be; that we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of this country previous to their becoming a nation; for the signal and manifold mercies and the favorable interpositions of His providence in the course and conclusion of the late war; for the great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty which we have since enjoyed; for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been enable to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national one now lately instituted for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed, and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and, in general, for all the great and various favors which He has been pleased to confer upon us.

And also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions; to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a blessing to all the people by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to protect and guide all sovereigns and nations (especially such as have shown kindness to us), and to bless them with good governments, peace, and concord; to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us; and, generally to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best.

Given under my hand, at the city of New York, the 3d day of October, A.D. 1789.

A Good Dog

2010-08-14T15:16:00.002-05:00

I thought of you today
When happenstance brought me
To that road we last walked
And to the memory of your last breaths,
How I held your sweet, warm head
In my hands and whispered to you
Trying desperately to comfort you,
Willing myself to believe
You would be all right,
Willing you to know how much
You were loved, how much
Joy you brought to the lives
Of my children, to us all

I thought of you, today, buried
Under your beloved pear tree
And how you now nourish it
As it had once nourished you,
And I missed your playfulness
And the laughs you gave us
Missed the wonderful silliness
Of your sprightly, unfettered life
And yet the depth you brought
To my own, and I knew
I had been blessed

And I remembered my tears
Falling onto your limp ears then,
And how I prayed you had felt them,
Because in feeling them
You would have understood with certainty
The value of your life,
Believed without hesitation your worth,
Known beyond any doubt
That you had been a good dog

*Sadie was killed during a walk on a country road with her family. We could see nothing, as she had run a bit ahead of us; we heard only a screech, a thud and the squealing tires as the driver sped away from the scene. We found her lying by the side of the road as we ran over a hill to her side, in shock and not believing what had just happened. Though Sadie died in 1992, she returns to our thoughts again and again. She was a blessing to our family, and a very good dog who will always be missed.

For Sale: Fixer-upper

2010-08-07T11:20:00.002-05:00

Happy Birthday, America

2010-07-03T12:46:00.002-05:00

This past Sunday, as Mass ended, the priest announced our recessional hymn: "America the Beautiful". I remember finishing a prayer when hearing that and immediately looked up in surprise, that uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. "Is a patriotic song appropriate for church? Did anyone else find the song selection just a little odd? Shouldn't we be singing something about, ummmm, God?"

The song began, and I remember enjoying the beauty of the melody and the lovely voices singing America's praise. Soon I fell right into the mood. And then I began to focus on the words. The chorus of each verse was more a plea for God's grace to shine upon our beautiful land, to keep her pure and right and just--and godly. "America the Beautiful" is not just a patriotic song. It is a prayer. Increasingly, prayer for America seems most appropriate these days.

America, you are suffering now. Even (especially) among our leaders, brotherhood is far from your shores. Yet, despite "tar balls" washing up on your silken beaches, oil spills and the trash we carelessly leave about, our increasing hatred and divisive actions all in the name of power and control--even unto the shedding of blood--your spacious skies remain beautiful, your purple mountains majestic, your seas still sparkling, for the most part. I have seen them and they are breathtaking! But for how long? What are we doing to each other and to this land we call home? God shed His grace on thee.

America, much of your wilderness still remains untamed, your cry of freedom yet echoing from the moment of your birth. As with all of life, mistakes have been made--are being made--and sins continue to be perpetrated against your children and etched into your lands. But if thy soul be confirmed by self-control, thy laws be born of liberty and Truth, those sins can be expunged. May God mend thine every flaw.

America, your heroes have been many. Some we know, most are unknown and uncelebrated. Thousands upon thousands have fought for your liberties and the preserving and sharing of your richness, giving their utmost, even unto their very lives, so that you may endure, that the God-given freedoms for which you stand may be ever wider embraced. We must not let you down. We must hold on and hold fast to the lessons of our founders, to the ideals you put forth, to the Constitution of the United States and the Republic for which it stands. Help us understand the real wealth of your land lies not in gems or oil or the almighty dollar, that all our successes be in kindness and unselfishness and nobleness and in Truth, and our gold be found in brotherhood. May God thy gold refine.

America, the magnificence of your cities and monuments and memorials still shines upon the land. But let us make new memorials by the way we live our very lives, that there might be no more human tears, no more hatred, but many more dreams. God shed His grace on thee.

America, we will not diminish all our forefathers knew to be true. We will strive to keep respect and civility and honor always as our banners and hold them high. We will strive to walk in the footsteps of those brave men and women whose selfless actions and sacrifices gave birth to liberty, to the pursuit of happiness and all that is good (rather than to the pursuit of power and control and self-indulgence), to the free and beautiful land that is America! God shed His grace on thee--and on us all, always and forever.

Happy Birthday, America...and many more.

America the Beautiful
Words by Katharine Lee Bates
Melody by Samuel Ward

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness.

America! America!
God mend thine ev'ry flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law.

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness,
And ev'ry gain divine.

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears.

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
and crown thy good with brotherhood
from sea to shining sea.
(Videotape by Monica E. Smith; Music: United States Navy Band and Sea Chanters Chorus)

Sand Box

2010-07-02T10:09:00.008-05:00

Sand Box
(for Tony)

The scene is the same

Only the faces change

But the innocent are not protected

They are little boys sitting in tanks,

Pointing their guns at the enemy

"Bang, you're dead!"

They are gathered at mess or prayer

Or at rest, little boys playing

In front of the camera, compelling

Those at home to believe

They are fine and happy and, well...

So I believe—I must believe when I see

Those sweet little-boy faces

Smiling at me from thousands

Of miles away, playing in the sand

Of Fallujah and Marja, Kabul and Kandahar

Places that sound like made up little-boy names

Rather than killing fields

(pictures published with permission)

A Fish Story

2010-05-17T13:25:00.004-05:00

The First Fish

          The first fish was the only fish
I ever caught. That morning it rained a soft, warm,
misty rain and I thought our trip would be ruined,
but Lester said it was perfect, that the rain would
bounce on the lake and distort what the fish see,
bringing them to the surface to eat bugs and bait
that had washed into the water. My day brightened.
And it was beautiful.
          So Lester, Sean, Scott and I set out
for a small lake near the Ohio-Indiana boarder
to catch some fish. We waited and re-baited, waited
and re-baited and I was beginning to think I was right
about the rain. But after a while, I felt a quick, strong tug
on my pole and I felt like Hemingway's Santiago must have
felt after finally catching his big fish. My fish was blue and
green and silver and all of six inches in length.
And it was beautiful.
          I asked if I could eat it and Lester said I should.
Since it was late and I was the only one to catch a fish,
we headed home. Lester cut open the fish
and gutted and filleted it and presented it to me.
And it was beautiful.
          I salted and peppered and dredged it in flour,
placing it carefully in a hot pan with melted butter.
It sizzled and crackled and the hot butter popped
and splattered, and the nutty, savory aroma made
my mouth water, and the fish was no longer blue and
green and silver, but crusty and golden brown.
And it was beautiful.
          I gingerly placed the little fish on a platter befitting
any trophy fish and ate every buttery morsel myself
with the satisfaction and delight of one who had
never before eaten. Sean said, "That's your fish, Monica!"
and Scott congratulated me and Lester smiled
a big smile that tinted his entire face red,
laughing as though he had caught the fish himself.
And it was beautiful.

(inspired by Mary Oliver's "The Fish", and the first fish I ever caught)

O Death, Where is Thy Sting?

2010-04-04T03:24:00.002-05:00

(Holy Saturday, St. John Chrysostom Byzantine Catholic Church in Columbus, Ohio)

The Paschal Homily of St. John Chrysostom (Read Each Year at Pascha)

Is there anyone who is a devout lover of God? Let them enjoy this beautiful bright festival! Is there anyone who is a grateful servant? Let them rejoice and enter into the joy of their Lord!

Are there any weary with fasting? Let them now receive their wages! If any have toiled from the first hour, let them receive their due reward; If any have come after the third hour, let him with gratitude join in the Feast! And he that arrived after the sixth hour, let him not doubt; for he too shall sustain no loss. And if any delayed until the ninth hour, let him not hesitate; but let him come too. And he who arrived only at the eleventh hour, let him not be afraid by reason of his delay.

For the Lord is gracious and receives the last even as the first. He gives rest to him that comes at the eleventh hour, as well as to him that toiled from the first. To this one He gives, and upon another He bestows. He accepts the works as He greets the endeavor. The deed He honors and the intention He commends.

Let us all enter into the joy of the Lord! First and last alike receive your reward; rich and poor, rejoice together! Sober and slothful, celebrate the day!

You that have kept the fast, and you that have not, rejoice today for the Table is richly laden! Feast royally on it, the calf is a fatted one. Let no one go away hungry. Partake, all, of the cup of faith. Enjoy all the riches of His goodness!

Let no one grieve at his poverty, for the universal kingdom has been revealed. Let no one mourn that he has fallen again and again; for forgiveness has risen from the grave. Let no one fear death, for the Death of our Savior has set us free.

He has destroyed it by enduring it. He destroyed Hades when He descended into it. He put it into an uproar even as it tasted of His flesh. Isaiah foretold this when he said, "You, O Hell, have been troubled by encountering Him below."

Hell was in an uproar because it was done away with. It was in an uproar because it is mocked. It was in an uproar, for it is destroyed. It is in an uproar, for it is annihilated. It is in an uproar, for it is now made captive. Hell took a body, and discovered God. It took earth, and encountered Heaven. It took what it saw, and was overcome by what it did not see.

O death, where is thy sting? O Hades, where is thy victory? Christ is Risen, and you, O death, are annihilated! Christ is Risen, and the evil ones are cast down! Christ is Risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is Risen, and life is liberated! Christ is Risen, and the tomb is emptied of its dead; for Christ having risen from the dead, is become the first-fruits of those who have fallen asleep.

To Him be Glory and Power forever and ever! Amen!

(Video Excerpts: St. John Chrysostom Byzantine Catholic Church
Columbus, Ohio; Easter 2009)

He is Not There...

2010-04-03T10:18:00.008-05:00

Mark 16: 1 - 7
1	And when the sabbath was past, Mary Mag'dalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salo'me, bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him.
2	And very early on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen.
3	And they were saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?"
4	And looking up, they saw that the stone was rolled back; -- it was very large.
5	And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe; and they were amazed.
6	And he said to them, "Do not be amazed; you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen, he is not here; see the place where they laid him.
7	But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him, as he told you."

Today when I awoke, I sat in complete silence, a cup of hot coffee, my little dog by my side, and enjoying the cool freshness of a new day. Usually, I need some kind of "noise", and so the television goes on as soon as I awake, even if I am not watching. But on this Holy Saturday, I needed only the silence. I needed only to hear the birds twittering as they flew from tree to tree, the mourning dove sing her solemn song. I needed only to watch the yet-bare branches waving in the early morning breeze outside my window, and the sun emerge from a clouded sky. I needed only to contemplate Him who made all these things, and the historic and world-shaking events which had transpired over a mere few days some 2000 years ago.

Holy Saturday has always been this way for me, even as a child; and we followed this same tradition with our children. I remember being taught to do "quiet things" from Good Friday afternoon until Easter, as we (even in our youthful minds) prepared for the Resurrection, as we gave due respect and honor to God. We may not have understood fully--lack of understanding does not imply untruth--but there was no need. There is no need. Such is the way with matters of the heart.

Tonight, we will attend the Resurrection services, Liturgy and blessing of Easter baskets as is our tradition (in the Byzantine Catholic Faith), as I have done every Holy Saturday of my life. The services will continue into the small hours of Easter Sunday morning, after which we will share the blessed foods from which we have fasted with our family, in Celebration of the Resurrection. It is these practices which keep me sane in an insane world. It is these celebrations that give my life meaning where, otherwise, I am at a loss to find meaning. It is these traditions that make me whole, bring to me the peace I cannot find elsewhere. It is this faith and this belief in a loving God which makes life beautiful and worth living, as we await the eternal glory promised by God, in Christ Jesus who prepared the way for us to follow .

May Christ crucified touch each of you in a most special way this day, this Easter season; and May God bless us all with an increased faith, wisdom to know Truth and the desire and courage to live it.

(photos: St. John Chrysostom Byzantine Catholic Church; Columbus, Ohio; Good Friday April 2, 2010)

Comfort Food

2010-02-10T13:56:00.017-05:00

Tired of the snow yet? I can recall lying in bed as a child, in the early morning hours, waiting with butterflies in my stomach for that announcement of the news I already knew: "Schools will be closed today!". And they were, usually for the next two days as well. Snow in Cleveland meant instant vacation back then. The type of snow we have experienced these past few days in much of the country was the usual winter fare in Cleveland "back in the day".

The excitement would build as I curled up in a warm bed, planning my day. My sister and brother and I would wake up to a good, hot breakfast—which usually included cream of wheat, our favorite on such a cold, snowy day. We would force our mother to promise not to stir it so that soft, chewy lumps of grain would form and then eat it with butter, sugar and lots of milk, something I do to this day. After breakfast we bundled in our snowsuits, leggings (what ever happened to leggings?), boots, scarves and gloves, and somewhat resembling robots, headed outside for most of the day. Once outside we began making a snow fort out of the entire back yard. We would each focus on a particular corner of the yard and built our forts as high as we could with ice "bricks" which were broken off of mountains of snow, and then tunneling through the crusty drifts to prepare for the snowball war to soon follow.

We never needed to be told to "find something to do". There was a whole world of things to do, given birth by our imaginations. Winter, summer, spring, fall, we were outside all day until supper, interacting with each other and our friends, enjoying the world around us, simply being children. As children we didn't need "love lives" then, we didn't have an unhealthy obsession with sex or interest in drugs or experience anxiety from societal pressures constantly bombarding us with "be more". Perhaps it is our self-complacency as adults which is ever-increasingly manifested in our children. We didn't need to hear TV commercials focused on telling us to "Get up, get up, get up, be a player" or "Play an hour a day". Does it not seem odd and unnatural to hear social advertisements telling children to play? It does to me and it makes me sad. What has happened to childhood? What has happened to us, that we would allow such destruction of childhood?

After the war ended, frozen and wet, we headed back into the house to change into dry clothes and drink the hot chocolate that was keeping warm on the stove, waiting for us. The house was always warm, even in winter. The love and security we felt as children warmed us as no blanket ever could. And, perhaps, this is what I remember most about my childhood. We would rest easily at night, ready for sleep after a full day, knowing we were loved for who we were, that nothing we might do could change that, never doubting that we were the priority in our parents' lives. It was never something that had to be verbalized. It just was.

My father would come home after work, and supper was soon to follow. On every Saturday, and especially on snowy, winter days, supper would consist of a huge pot of beef soup. It was my father's favorite meal. And when I cook that same soup today, the wafting fragrance serves up a feast of warm and satisfying memories which nourish me and keep me grounded.

Perhaps the word that best describes my childhood is "comfort". I did not know the pain or anxiety of having to take on adult roles. I was a child and concerned with those things befitting a child. My parents knew how to love, each other and us. Neither was overly concerned about place in life, and both were concerned more with their children's well-being than the views of the world. There were no power struggles, within the family or society. The focus was on our welfare and happiness and our growth as individuals. There was love. And there was consolation and solace in knowing it would always be that way.

And as we drifted off, sleep—and peace—came to us sweet and warm. It drifted down from the rafters with the love and laughter which protected us when we were children. And as I sleep each night, the memories, sweet and warm, ring from distant rafters, drifting down to comfort me, ground me, slow me down when this world begins to move a little too fast.

Comfort Food

We always laughed
As daddy ate his soup
From a large serving bowl
Filled to the brim
With hot savory beef broth,
A mountain of thin noodles
And a dash of Tabasco,
Pausing every now and then
To wipe his perspiration-covered face
And sit back, gratified, proclaiming
"I like soup no matter what flavor it is!"

We would race to drain
Our bowls in order to be first
To claim the prize—the juicy bones
Layered with chunks of soft beef,
Chewy gristle and mouth-watering
Beefy marrow which we would
Spread on our heavily salted meat

This was Saturday supper
Every week, every month,
All the years of our childhood
And the contentment
Of those early years was not only
From young, full bellies
But the love and security
That seemed to hover
Around our table, cloaking us
From the elements
Of change, floating

Like the rich, golden bubbles
Swirling in our Saturday soup

Cocoon

Laughter rose

And rang from the rafters

Drifting down softly

To comfort at night.

Sleep was sweet and warm

Within the cocoon of family

In my youth.

Laughter rose

And rang from the rafters

Drifting down softly

To comfort at night.

Sleep was sweet and warm

Within the cocoon of family

When my children were young.

Long-ago laughter echoes

And rings from distant rafters

Drifting down softly

To comfort at night.

Memories are sweet and warm

Within the cocoon of family

As I sleep.

Thank you for reading; and keep warm...

Go Forth and Create--New Recipe from the Expresso Cafe Kitchen

2010-01-16T12:51:00.006-05:00

art form: noun

An activity or a piece of artistic work that can be regarded as a medium of artistic expression. (The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language)

Cooking—as sure as painting, sculpture, writing, music—is most certainly an art form! The experience is not only in the creation itself, but in the reward of sharing and enjoyment in eating with another.

I have always loved those desserts made with phyllo (filo) dough. You know filo. Those papery thin layers upon layers upon layers of dough used in making baklava. while I love eating foods created with filo, I absolutely hate working with it. It's so "fussy". You have to carefully thaw it forever, keep the flimsy stack moist with a towel while you work very gingerly preparing each delicate layer for your creation; and still some of it dries out, cracks and tears. Your high hopes for a special dessert are dashed to the floor with tidbits of friable filo.

I was watching the "Contessa" on the food channel yesterday; she was making the most delectable-looking puff pastry dessert with pecans and cinnamon. Impressionable as I am, I had to have it right then. I was going over the ingredients in my head and thought I had everything I needed to create this gods' delight. Butter and cinnamon I always have. Nuts? Yes—in the freezer left over from my Christmas cookie baking. Puff pastry? Yes, I remembered the box in the deep freezer! Oh, no—it's F I L O!

Not to be denied, and because my mouth was already watering for this buttery dessert, I bravely proceeded to create. However, I did not have the time or the patience to "properly" bake something with filo dough. So, throwing caution—and everything I know about filo—out the window, I began. (As in writing, once you have learned and know the rules, feel free to break them.)

I took the filo out of the box—and because I did not have at least two hours to let it thaw—ignoring everything I knew about properly thawing it, I stuck it in the microwave for about a minute. It was not pretty, but it was usable. After laying it out on the butcher block, I stared at it for a minute or two and decided I was going to cut the entire stack in hunks. I made two incisions down the length and two more crosswise, giving me nine little stacks of filo. While doing this, 1 1/4 sticks of butter were melting away in the microwave. I then threw the little sections of filo into the bowl of melted butter—and this is where it gets down and dirty and downright fun, akin to a kid playing in the sandbox—with my hands, I tossed them around, making sure they were all pretty well saturated with the butter, and somewhat separated. I then added some brown sugar, cinnamon, a little salt and the pecans and tossed again, making sure it was all evenly distributed. I buttered a shallow pan, emptied the filo mixture into the pan lightly patted it in and baked it. What came out was the most delightful, buttery, "crunchewy", satisfying dessert I had made in a long time, and took only about 45 minutes from oven to mouth. It was actually a great success. Barefoot or not, the Contessa had nothing over me!

Lesson: DO NOT BE AFRAID TO COOK! It's fun, relaxing, very rewarding and very artistic; and gives you a wonderful sense of accomplishment I hope you try this recipe—and, add something to make it your own. As I'm sitting here, I have already thought to add apple slices, other fresh or dried fruits, flavorings, jam, coconut. The possibilities are as endless as one's imagination. So, go forth and create! I'd love to hear how your creations turn out.

Buttery Pecan Phyllo Cake

1 16-oz box filo dough

1 1/4 - 1 1/2 sticks butter (I like I Can't Believe It's Not Butter or Smart Balance)
dash of salt
1 tsp cinnamon (or more, to your taste)

1/2 cup brown sugar (light or dark; more or less to your taste; I used light brown sugar, about 1/2 cup)

1 1/2 cups pecan pieces (could be made with other nuts; I used pecans)

juice of one orange (optional)

Remove filo from box. Keeping wrapped in inner paper, microwave on high for approximately one minute, just long enough to unfold. Unfold stack of filo and place flat on counter. Cut two equal lengthwise and 2 equal crosswise slices, making nine separate stacks of dough.

Melt butter and drop in stacks of filo, mixing to equally distribute butter. Add remaining ingredients and using hands, mix and distribute, breaking up and separating some of the filo stacks.

Pour into buttered, shallow baking pan, approximately 9 X 10 (this was the size of my baking pan; however, any similar-sized shallow pan will work. The important thing is to shape the mixture into a square/rectangle of about 1/2" thickness)

Bake in center of oven on 350 degrees, for approximately 20 - 25 minutes, or until the bottom is golden brown and the top begins to brown.

Remove from oven and, while cooling, sprinkle the juice of one orange over the top. Serve by cutting into squares/pieces with vanilla ice cream or frozen cool whip.

Keeps well overnight; no need to refrigerate; just cover and set on counter. I know this because I am eating a big slab as I write this, and IT IS HEAVENLY!

Happy Eating!

(see this recipe and more at the(Expresso Cafe Kitchen)

Lip Service

2009-12-31T17:33:00.000-05:00

The question is, are all the toasts we make, promises we utter, the resolutions we list year after year after year simply pretty words? Is it just the scripted thing to do because we've always done it, because this is what one does on New Year's Eve? Do our vows simply fall from our mouths like confetti to decorate our New Year celebrations, or rise in the night air, only to burst when the clock strikes midnight? I think the power of a truly new, joyful, prosperous and meaningful future lies in contrition for past misdeeds and the desire and heart, wisdom, spirit, truth and determination with which we speak these words. Anything less is simply lip service.

Lip Service

(Thoughts upon a New Year's Eve)

After all is said and done

And the last toast is uttered,

After the final resolution

We are no better, no worse than before

This ceremonious passing of time

Stubbornly entrenched in old ways,

We cheer on the new

While our hearts remain unchanged,

Our minds unyielding,

Our souls secluded

In prisons of self-complacency.

And together we go our separate ways

With cups raised high in celebration,

Looking toward a new mediocrity.

Reclamation

2009-12-23T12:00:00.001-05:00

(Music: "Silent Night" by Tim Janis, piano)

My husband, Scott, and I were recently watching the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol, which is actually entitled, simply, Scrooge. We love how there are subtle differences in each of the versions of this beloved story. For instance, in the 1951 version, when Jacob Marley and the other spirits conversed with Ebenezer Scrooge, they spoke of his "reclamation". We smiled, enjoying the variance of another era, and loved the sound of the word, talking about how that word is never used anymore. I've been thinking about the word ever since.

For the first time this year, it snowed that same night; I couldn't sleep and headed outside to watch the falling snow. I could feel my spirits lift, my heart sore as I watched in excitement like a child, the silvery flecks in the bright light at the back door of our house; the snow was soft and brilliant and fluttered so gently to the gelid ground below. And as the snow collected on the grass, the light reclaimed it as stars sparkling from the heavens, even in the place where my feet disturbed its purity. I could not get the melody of Silent Night out of my head, but sang instead "silent night, snowy night...". It was absolutely beautiful: the snow, the profound quietude and the sweet melody of a silent night. I wondered if the composer might have known that his creation would resound forever, as the Composer of the song of life knew that His creation would forever live...

I can't imagine Christmas without singing Silent Night. There are few songs that can dispel the darkness and elevate as it does; and I pray the world awakens before there truly are no more silent nights—in song or in life.

Christmas, as any earthly joy, is fleeting. So let us all, with Ebenezer Scrooge, keep Christmas in our hearts, and promise to "live in the Past, the Present and the Future", allowing the spirits of all three to "strive within us!". My Christmas wish is that all hearts remain open to the love born this silent, holy night. May we all know the true joy and peace of the season, as we become increasingly aware that our reclamation can be solely found swaddled, in the sweet, soft hay of a lowly manger.

("Reclamation" to be recited, or sung to the melody of "Silent Night")

Reclamation
(by Monica E. Smith)

Silent night, snowy night
All is still, soft and white
Round the world people gather with smiles
Accepting God's love in the gift of a child
Waiting for crying to cease
Longing for heavenly peace

Silent night, snowy night
Heaven's love, shining bright
In the darkness a single star
Leading His people from near and far
Jesus be our guide
While with you we ever abide

Silent night, snowy night
God's own child, in our sight
All the world glows with heavenly grace
Dispelling the darkness of this lowly place
Christ has come to earth
Reclaiming our lives by His birth

Merry Christmas! And may God bless us all. Every one!

All is Not Calm...

2009-12-15T12:44:00.000-05:00

Wouldn't it be nice if that night for which we wait each year was truly a silent, holy night? What would it take to make it so?

For so many, Christmas has been diminished to getting the best sale on Black Friday, and now, Cyber Monday. How sad. How meaningless and empty. And at the same time, we're so caught up in the wrongs of others, offended that we have been wished "Happy Holidays!" rather than "Merry Christmas!". In the scheme of things, does it really matter? If you feel moved to wish someone "Merry Christmas!" do it. Why be so concerned, certain that the person who wishes you "Happy Holidays!" in return is using the wrong words? Does that, somehow, take away from your Christmas celebration? Can you honestly say you know what is in that person's heart? I think it a bit self-righteous to assume a person who greets you with "Happy Holidays" is attacking Christianity. People have been saying it for years with the simple and kind intent of spreading holiday cheer, and now, suddenly it becomes anathema. We seem to be missing the forest for the Christmas trees. I believe Jesus Christ seems to be more concerned with a person's heart rather than his choice of words. Is the person who greets another with "Merry Christmas" somehow a better Christian than one who does not? Wouldn't actually living the Gospel in our own lives be a much more productive and magnetic defense of Christ?

There are so many opportunities during the Christmas season for us to do this, so many ways to enhance our own Christmas traditions and activities, and give them life again. There are so many opportunities to stand in solidarity with those who hunger and thirst, or are in need in any way, and that do not take away from our celebrations, but in fact, enrich them. There are so many ways to embrace those less fortunate than we are and include them in our lives, so many opportunities for us to "be" Christ. Ebenezer Scrooge learned this before it was too late. Will we? Here are just two of which I have recently become aware.

Seven-year-old Nathan Elfrink has been fighting brain cancer for about five years. He is losing his battle. His Christmas wish is to receive one million Christmas cards before he dies. What an enormous wish for a little boy. What a small wish to grant. I intend to send Nathan a card and, perhaps, a little gift. If anyone else wishes to do so, you may reach Nathan at 2415 Taylor Blair Road; West Jefferson, Ohio 43162. And while you're at it, please, pass the word.

Linda Gibbons languishes in a Canadian prison for the unspeakable crime of standing outside of an abortion clinic and praying for the people who come and go there. She is witnessing to the Gospel in opposition to the Canadian *"bubble zone" law. St. Paul entreats us to encourage one another and build each other up (1 Thessalonians 5:11). How much would a simple Christmas card and greeting encourage Linda Gibbons and make her Christmas more joyful! Cards can be sent to her at:

Attention: Linda Gibbons

Vanier Center for Women

655 Martin Street, Box 1040

Milton, Ontario

L9T 5E6, CANADA

(This prison normally incarcerates those who are convicted of drug-related crimes, so the following requirements are in place for correspondence):

Do not use stickers of any kind on envelope or card

Do not send laminated materials

Do not ask direct questions about daily activities at the detention center

Put your address also directly in the card or letter, because sometimes the mail sorter keeps the envelopes and Linda cannot write back if she chooses to do so

Monetary gifts to Linda must be a money order made out to "Linda Gibbons". The detention center deposits the money directly into her account. She uses any donations she might receive for envelopes and stamps.

Linda cannot receive books or pro-life materials that show post-abortion photos

I certainly do not condemn our respective Christmas traditions; I love the sound of carols, the snow and ornaments on a tree, the brightly colored lights and the personal traditions I grew up with, and still continue to this day with my family. It simply would not be Christmas without them! These are all beautiful and joyful ways to keep Christmas in our hearts. I don't believe it matters that Jesus was not actually born on December 25, nor does it matter how the celebration of His birth came about. It does not matter whether someone wishes you "Merry Christmas!" or "Happy Holidays!" or "Peace". What matters is that "it is", that He is. What matters is that we celebrate His birth with joy and love, compassion and benevolence, as He lived. After all the shopping, the baking, the decorating, it is good to keep in mind that all our preparation and celebration is centered, and should focus around the birth of Jesus Christ. So, "What ought we to do?" Let joy and gladness show forth in you. You are called to be the presence of Jesus. (Luke 3:10-18).

Peace, and Merry Christmas!

(*about bubble zone laws)

Sustenance

2009-11-30T12:26:00.002-05:00

I've known Molly for about seven years. We met through a pen-pal organization online. We became friends, but I've never actually met her. I did call her once out of the blue just to surprise her. It was fun and quite enjoyable, hearing her gasp and laugh and yell "Monica!" in disbelief over the phone line. She was not one to hide emotion. It made my day; and I think it made hers, too. Over the years I've often thought of planning a short visit to "Moonshine Road" in Pennsylvania, where she lives, to have a girls' weekend and really get to know each other better. Molly died on Thanksgiving Day.

Molly loved her son. And she loved her cats. And her garden, from which emerged some fine, down-home Pennsylvania cookin'. I could almost smell her creations when she described them in letters. She loved to cook and camp and was a great organizer, always in charge of some event or another, like the yearly dinners to make money for the Jonestown fire department. Such a kind soul, she was.

She had her share—maybe more—of heartache, suffering many physical and emotional illnesses, struggles of one kind or another. Through our letters, we allowed each other to rant and rave and cry, to be human, to be ourselves. And she loved my poetry. She trusted me with her most personal demons, and though I cried over her letters many times, I always looked forward to them, because they gave me an opportunity to pray with her and for her, to encourage her, to help her know God, laugh with her, to think about and examine the angels and demons in my own life, and let Molly know she was a person of worth, that I considered her a gift in my life.

No, we never met, but she called me "friend", and my life has been richer for the knowing of Molly. Her unexpected passing has left a void in my life. And much sadness. But there are no "I wish I would have..." moments—except for, maybe, having a chance to answer her last letter—no being sorry I did not respond to her or become more involved. There are no thoughts of "if only...". We do not know the day nor the hour (Matthew 25:13), and I am thankful I did not hesitate to engage her, to get to know her, to express love and friendship.

Eternal repose and blessed memory, my friend. May you now know the peace you craved during your life on earth.

I had a friend once. Her name was Molly.

Sustenance

Our daily bread

Is not food alone

But that which nourishes the soul.

It is the very manna that falls from heaven

And seasons our lives, filling the hungry

With the sweetness of an embrace,

The richness of a kind gesture,

A hearty smile.

It is the cool, clear water

Flowing from the heart no longer a rock,

Quenching our thirst for love,

Giving us purpose

And a reason to believe.

Throwing out the Baby with the Bath Water

2009-10-18T12:11:00.000-05:00

Actually, I don't normally "rant" here. But I heard what I thought to be a disturbing news story the other day, one that, I believe, goes deeper than the incident itself, one that doesn't bode well for the moral direction of our country.

It seems a college student at the University of New Hampshire had hung a United States flag on the wall outside his dorm room window. He wanted to support and honor his father, who had served in the military for 20 years. No, that is not disturbing to me (had I been that young man's parent, I would have been extremely proud). What is disturbing is that the university forced him to take it down. It seems their policy prohibits "television or radio antennae and any other objects which are placed outside the room window or anywhere on the exterior of the building or adjacent grounds." Comforting to know, especially in these dark days of terrorism, that our American flag has now been put into the category of miscellaneous objects which obstruct. I certainly believe in authority, guidance and ethical behavior. But there is an element of "the greater good" here that is being sorely overlooked.

It seems that this policy is in place because the university can't have all sorts of inappropriate things being hung everywhere, not that that United States flag is inappropriate of course, as the UNH administrators say; but if they allowed one object, they'd have to allow everything.

This morning I heard of the Chester City, Pennsylvania firefighter who has been suspended without pay because he refused to take down the American flag decal from his locker. This is the new policy because of a recent racially offensive cartoon posted by a colleague.

The fire commisioner stated the policy remains in effect because "How do we know what offends who?" he said. "I have to play Solomon here." I see two things wrong with this:

One, there is an inherent danger in blanket policies such as these. They are made without much thought and out of fear and our need to control. Are we to refrain from speaking truth, or displaying or expressing what is righteous and good in fear that those who oppose might become offended? Are we no longer "allowed" to express positive and encouraging thoughts? Do we not encourage evil when we are afraid to speak of truth and fidelity and integrity?

Two, Solomon spoke with wisdom.

Holdout

2009-10-06T10:58:00.000-05:00

Honoring Nature

2009-09-28T13:44:00.005-05:00

Our connection with nature is a strong one. Henry David Thoreau felt that we can never have enough of nature. I agree! We take comfort in her coolness, warm ourselves in the heat of her sun, are awed by her beauty and amazed and frightened by her power and anger; and we respect her wisdom. What person has not longed to "get away from it all" when life's pressures become too demanding? And what are our first thoughts in the search to escape life's burdens: to the woods, the lake, the beach, the mountains and the sea—to nature! It's like coming home.

In his book, My First Summer in the Sierra (1911), John Muir states "We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us. Our flesh-and-bone tabernacle seems transparent as glass to the beauty about us, as if truly an inseparable part of it, thrilling with the air and trees, streams and rocks, in the waves of sun—a part of all nature...".

I believe, as the physicist, philosopher, G.C. Lichtenberg once remarked, that when we look at nature, we are observing ourselves. I also believe that there is but one Architect of the entire natural world, that when we honor nature, we honor ourselves, and ultimately, we honor our God. It was from the earth we came, and when our lives here end, it is to the earth our physical bodies will return, for we are kindred...

"Honoring Nature", a Video by Monica E. Smith
(music: "Night Rain" by Jim Brickman)

Oh, To Be a Noble Tree

Oh, to be a noble tree
And never have to bend a knee
In the bonds of slavery
Or know the pain of poverty

Regarded as a thing of beauty
Lovely for the eye to see
Not concerned with vanity
Each accepted as he would be

Oh, to be a noble tree
Akin to sun and stars and sea
No fear of inequality
For such royal pedigree

With difference each one’s majesty
And color, just variety
To live a life forever free
Oh, to be a noble tree

Come October

Copper and gold, these riches I treasure
More than any earthly pleasure
Come October they shimmer in fields of grain
A harvest of color, in nature they reign
Behold their beauty, store the memory, look fast
But the blink of an eye and the season has passed

Her Majesty

In the midst
Of her evergreen entourage
Stood the Maple
Majestic brilliance
Glowing as if ablaze
Yet not consumed
By her radiance
Nor could October’s hoarfrost
Cool the intensity
Of such perfection
And I, how blessed
To have gazed upon
Such royal pedigree

Consecration

a solitary leaf,
lovely in death
as it was in life,
tinged with tears
from an early autumn
frost flutters, featherlike
to it's resting place
on the gelid ground,
unaware
it has given its life
that winter might once
again draw breath

Reason and Rhyme

Where is the reason, the rhyme
in a world that honors force?
Look to the wind.

in a world that glorifies might?
Look to the mountains.

in a world that praises power?
Look to the sea.

in a world still seeking beauty?
Look to the flowers of the field.

in a world struggling to be free?
Look to the birds of the air.

Where is the reason, the rhyme
in a world desperately in need of love?
Seek God within yourself.

(poems and some text excerpted from Kindred: A Family Portrait by Monica E. Smith)

Haiku for You and Tanka, Too

2009-09-22T10:58:00.003-05:00

I love shorter poems for their ability to tell a story, or set a scene (that furthers one's imagination) with just a few words. So it is only natural that I would be drawn to Haiku and Tanka. These ancient Japanese poems have been around for hundreds and hundreds of years, and I find the forms can be brought into the present without any difficulty at all.

Haiku are an ancient form of Japanese unrhymed poetry. They usually will contain a season word ("kigo"), and capture the essence of a moment; they deal with nature itself, or human nature. Older than Haiku, Tanka are similar in nature in that they evoke a moment or mark an occasion, and do so with brevity and musicality. They are always written about nature, the seasons, love, sadness or other strong emotions. There are many specifications for writing these little verses, which I won't go into here. (if you would like to know more about them, there is a wealth of information online).

Autumn has always been my favorite season, and it seems to be so with many writers. There is a seemingly endless supply of writings when googling "autumn". I'd like to mark the passing of yet another summer with a few verses of my own.

Here in Ohio, we're experiencing an early autumn this year. And I couldn't be happier! It seems like we always are in a hurry to get to the next new thing around the corner. But by doing that, we lose sight of what's happening now, and miss so many gifts given by the present. I will not rush autumn away this year with expectation of other good things to come. I intend to enjoy each new colorful day as it unfolds before me.

I have always loved the preparation, the anticipation of things to come almost more than the actual happenings themselves; and it is no less so than with the changing of seasons. Autumn is a death of what was, yes, but also a new birth. Actually, autumn, more than any other season, is a preparation for new life (as is death, I believe). I see it in the changing colors, the dying off of vegetation, the birds and other animals flying or scurrying here and there seemingly planning, organizing, preparing for what is to come.

On a recent camera shoot, I was in awe of what I heard and saw when I actually focused on what was going on around me. I felt I was in another world. Rather than simply walking through nature, taking it for granted, almost ignoring the life around me, I put myself into the picture and became a part of it, celebrated life with all my senses. Leaves were falling, and I enjoyed their smooth windings and turnings and the whoosh as they floated to the earth below. Rain was ever so lightly patting down the drying grasses; and rather than trying to escape it, as we so often do, I welcomed and enjoyed each cool droplet on my skin. Birds and other animals were in a rhythm of busy-ness, calling out to each other and the wind seemed to speak to all of nature, telling it to hurry, hurry, prepare, prepare...

Seemingly, nature gave the call to change course, and all responded. This is remarkable to witness, and no less exciting year after year. I hope your autumn will be as joyful and joy-filled as mine this year.

Two Tanka

I wipe away drops

of moisture from my forehead

the heat of August

steadily fades into fall

as I slowly age with time

the cicada's song

shortens with each passing day

the cycle completes

as his days come to an end

in the waning August heat

Four Haiku

autumn comes calling

mother nature cleans her house...

scattered maple leaves

the tree frogs call out,

serenading each other—

summer is over

gray clouds break apart

cold wind blows in from the north

autumn has arrived

flower petals fade
as autumn approaches—
little by little

(music excerpt in this video: The Song of the Japanese Autumn
(Yasuo Kawahara) from The Concert at the Church of Villamediana (Spain)
recorded August 25, 2005

Early Autumn in West Liberty, Ohio

Diehard

2009-09-10T11:58:00.000-05:00

("Diehard" from the photo series Yesterday by Monica E. Smith)

Sweet Oleander

2009-09-09T10:35:00.006-05:00

Oleander, also called rose bay (Nerium Oleander), assbane and in Persian, kahrzarah, is a lovely and sweet-smelling white, purple or pink flower. The bush on which it grows has leathery lance-shaped leaves and long seed pods. Oleander is a native of India, but is now naturalized in many warm countries. It grows wild along the sides and hollows of ravines in Afghanistan. Ironically, despite its beauty and sweet smell, it is among the most poisonous and deadly of plants.

Lament of a Soldier Son
(for Patrick)

Sadly, it is not the aromatic lavender I remember
That suspends me in this mystifying languor,
But only the sweet, deceptive oleander —
As deadly as it is fragrant —
That cunningly deceives me into believing
I walk among the flowers of my mother's garden.
Oh, to know such blissful tranquility again!
Here, when I lie, I lie in fear
In parched and withered deserts.
No verdant fields gracefully swaying in the breeze
No mellifluous birdsong awakening me from sleep
No dulcet tones of wind through pine
No misty rains to cool my heated brow
Only longing and ephemeral dreams of home,
And that wicked perfume of wild oleander
Wafting through the unsettling sands of Afghanistan.

Ballerina

2009-08-18T14:21:00.014-05:00

In the spring
When she was a child
I wanted her to be a ballerina
So she put on a tutu
And toe shoes
And danced for me

As the heat of summer rose
With light of day
She feverishly wanted to grow up
To be like me
And I wanted her
To be like me

When it was autumn
And the winds blew strong
She dressed in jeans and sweatshirts
And a Superman hat
And I told her
Not to fly so fast

Now, with winter near
I bid the passing of days
Alone to freeze
For she is, at long last,
Becoming who she was created to be
And I want her, simply, to be

("Ballerina" adapted from Days of Fine Gray Ash, by Monica E. Smith)

"Henements"

2009-08-14T12:16:00.002-05:00

(from the Photo Series "Yesterday", by Monica E. Smith)

Tumbling (into the Vale of Years)

2009-08-10T10:06:00.037-05:00

Forty years ago this year I was a senior in high school, with my whole life ahead of me. As I look back on those days, the events seem almost like a play. There were times I played the part my way, and times I simply followed the "director", but never knowing how the story might end. It was such an exciting time, filled with endless possibilities. Mostly, I had no idea what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go, let alone who I was.

One would think, though, I might have learned those things through the years.Today at 58 years old—a senior yet again—I like to believe (when my darker side is hibernating) that I still have my whole life ahead of me. But I still do not know what I want to do, where I want to go; and, sometimes, I'm not so sure of who I am. There are the obvious descriptions of course: sister, wife, mother, grandmother. But those are just labels. Memories are flooding back these days, and I look back over all the experiences in my life and wonder if they are simply disjointed occurrences, or if they are connected in some way. People tend to believe that with age comes wisdom, that everything is clearer and more understood. Not me. It seems I have more questions now than I did when I was in high school.

These days, everything seems to spark a memory. This year, especially, I have experienced births, reunions, marriage, the passing of people I seem to have known for a lifetime—new life beginning, all. The stories are familiar, but I remember playing a different part in the original. And that's kind of bittersweet. We all enjoy being the "star" now and then, don't we? But there is something to be said for character actors. There would be no story without them. They give the story a sense of reality and familiarity (and, perhaps, a bit of spice!) without distracting from it. That takes experience. And as we get older, that is one thing we certainly have.

I think, for the most part, memories are, perhaps, the gifts of a life well-lived, even though they can be painful at times. If so, then I have lived a good life (so far), because the memories just seem to come tumbling back without end, casting their recollections, their tears, their smiles. And I'm definitely ready to make more. Quiet on the set...and, ACTION!

Tumbling

They come tumbling

stumbling

on a beggars night

rumbling

like the thunder in my head

memories

jumbling my thoughts

into confusion

Quiet!

But they will not hear

they cast their recollections

near

(and leave me

with a borrowed tear)

unrepentant

for their intrusion

Peace,
Monica

* "Tumbling" from Days of Fine Gray Ash

Resurrection

2009-04-08T14:02:00.010-05:00

There is a pond

in a field on State Route 287 that I love. A few years ago, it wasn't there, but a small corn field grew in its place. The land was very low in this area, and during one very wet summer it flooded, killing all the corn. I remember going by each day and watching the corn plants hanging lower and lower, dying a little bit more each time I passed, and thinking how terrible this loss was.

Eventually, the corn succumbed totally, and could hardly be seen for the pool of water that enveloped it. The summer was an unusually wet one, so the little pond never actually drained completely; in fact, it grew wider with each new rainfall. I wondered if the people who owned this property would end up filling it with more soil, and build it up again so they would be able to plant more crops. But that never happened. It was left to nature.

Strangely enough, the little pond never completely drained, and remained even throughout the autumn and winter months and into the following spring. And each time I passed I wondered what would become of that once green field. I missed seeing the corn plants swaying in the breeze. Oh, there is plenty more corn around these parts, but it was just the thought of a living thing dying that made me sad. Little by little, though, the pond seemed to become prettier, with all types of marshy plants growing around it. It looked natural, like it belonged there, as if, maybe, this is what it was meant to be all along.

Over the course of another year or two, the little pond continued to grow and become deeper. I watched with more and more curiosity each subsequent year. Eventually I began to see a few birds stop by, and then some families of ducks. It was certainly not unusual to see the Canadian geese stop to rest on their way from here to there in spring and autumn, either. The ducks are regulars now, some of the geese stay year-round and in the past couple years I have even seen some blue heron and a snowy egret wading at the water's edge. I saw the egret only once; perhaps the little lake was a convenient stopover on his journey. But the blue heron have been there a few times.

I look forward to each new spring, watching the increasing families of ducks and geese move in, wondering what other new birds and animals might adopt this place as home. It's funny, but I rarely think about that corn field anymore. I missed it at first. But the lake has grown into a beautiful natural surrounding, the perfect home for a lot of creatures. I love looking at it on bright sunny days, the water sparkling, the ducks and geese floating along, young ones trailing in their wake. And I'm hoping that snowy egret decides to stop by again one of these days. I haven't been able to catch him on film yet, but if he returns I will.

Odd, something seems vaguely familiar to me. I can't shake the feeling that I have heard this story before. Something about being dried and withered, diseased and suffering, dying, changing, living again in a new form...

Happy Easter everyone.

Where Once a Lowland Corn Field Stood

There is a limpid pool
Where once
A lowland corn field
Stood languishing
In marshy soil,
Drained of its sweetness
And finally succumbing
Under a midsummer
Jasmine sun.

It is said that life
Must run its course,
That out of death
Will come new life.
And so it is
Where once
A lowland corn field
Stood, another now
Draws breath.

'Twas washed away
What could not flower,
But the land was not
Left barren.
Life is sustained
Through nature's wisdom,
Change its only order, for
Where once
A lowland corn field
Stood, the snowy egret
Now is boarder.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow...

2009-04-07T10:18:00.004-05:00

Spring has sprung, but someone forgot to notify Mother Nature! Here it is, not a week before Easter, we are well into April and this was outside when I awoke this morning. Living in Ohio, you just have to laugh sometimes.

With my woodfire stoked, my wee warm dog by my side and the hot coffee percolating in the pot, I am good to go; but in an attempt to awaken spring, or, perhaps, scare off winter, I offer the following few words as a nudge.

Sanguine Expectation

He waited, imagining
In breathless anticipation
As each silken layer
Was slowly,
Almost painfully
Peeled away
To reveal
The delicate gift
Flowering within.
As if to sense
He could take no more,
The tiny green bud
Finally, mercifully burst
Into a profusion of color

Spring had sprung!

("Sanguine Expectation" from Kindred: A Family Portrait)

The King of Glory Enters...

2009-04-05T12:00:00.007-05:00

Immaculate Conception Parish; North Lewisburg, Ohio (Diocese of Cincinnati)

A Lenten Journey

(with permission)

by Paula D. Oshinski

We walk beside our Blessed Lord Jesus as He makes His entrance into Jerusalem amid the waving palms and pussy willows, hearing the shouts of "Hosanna!".

Our Journey takes us to the Last Supper in the Upper Room where Jesus will give us the Greatest Gift, the Holy Eucharist, the Gift of Himself.

We once again journey to the Garden of Gethsemane to comfort Our Lord as He waits for what He knows will happen--where He asks His Father, as we all have asked at moments in our own lives, to take this Cup from Him...The tramping of the soldiers' feet startle us and make us realize that we are on the Way of the Cross . . .

The blows of His scourging make our souls cry out for mercy for Him. We stand with Our Lord at the trial. We weep and whisper, "Ecce Homo" (Behold the Man!) And as Barrabas is given his freedom and the crowd shouts, "Crucify Him", our tears speak silent volumes...

We walk with Our Lord as He stumbles under the weight of the Cross and falls three times, and our hearts yearn to help Him carry It, as did Simon of Cyrene.

We run to Him, as Veronica did, and wipe His Precious Face with the Veil, imprinting the Icon of His Divine Humanity on our hearts.

We hear Our Lord consoling the weeping women--the Great Consoler Comforts us in the midst of His unspeakable suffering. And then, we see the anguished face of His Blessed Mother as she beholds her Son and Our Lord, and Her Heart is broken. She weeps, for Him and for us . . .

Suddenly, we are where we would never desire to be, on the hill of Golgotha, shaken by the deafening strikes of the hammers driving the nails into the Hands of Our Lord--the Hands of Healing, the Hands of Love. The Cry of Love pierces the air as the nails are driven into the Feet of the Master. . .

Time stops. We feel the excruciating Crown of Thorns as it causes Our Lord to endure indescribable pain. We feel great sorrow and pain piercing the Heart of the Blessed Mother as we stand beside her and John at the foot of the Cross. Jesus Forgives Us! We see the gathering darkness and hear the Seven Last Words of Our Lord on the Cross. Then, Jesus speaks: "It Is Finished." The earth trembles. . .

We walk with Joseph of Arimathea to take down the Body of Our Lord. Jesus is anointed with sweet-smelling fragrance, wrapped in fine linen, and is laid in the Tomb. How can this be, that the Creator of All, Our God, is buried?!

In the midst of our great grief, we are wrapped in a shroud of peace. We remember Our Lord's Promises. Sunday morning dawns, and we walk to the Tomb with the women. The Tomb is bathed in Holy Light. The stone has been rolled away. The Angel exclaims, "Behold! He Is Not Here! He Is Risen! Alleluia!" The Resurrection of Our Lord is accomplished, and we shall rise with Him at the end of our Journey to Eternal Life. Christos Voskrese! Voistinnu Voskrese! Christ Is Risen! Indeed He Is Risen!

(for Byzantine Catholic Easter references, see also Byzantine Catholic Church

I Am Your Child

2009-03-12T11:39:00.004-05:00

Mother's Day is yet two months away. But March, unbelievably, marks the fourth anniversary of my mother's death, and I have been thinking of her a great deal these last few days. Be that as it may, what mother should only be remembered on one day? I dedicate this entry to her.

My mother never made a mistake, though she thought otherwise. I know this because everything she did, or said, or felt was genuine, from the heart and born from love. I think I even knew this as a child. Even then, I did not want to let her down. She just seemed to have a goodness about her that is seldom found. She was an exceedingly kind and loving woman who truly loved people and enjoyed their company. She loved fully and without limit, even though we, her children, may not have always made the wisest choices in our lives. In fact, those were the times I felt her love even more strongly. It never cooled, never wavered. I admired her so for her constancy, her quiet courage.

I think what is sometimes mistakenly believed to be "playing favorites" is simply a mother who is in touch with her children, and knowing instinctively, intuitively—by guess and by God—when a particular child needs more. My mother was such a woman.

And when I was sad and she would hold me, the touch of her hands was so warm and comforting. I think I miss that most of all. It was a safe place to be when I was a child, and even more so as an adult, facing the many challenges of life. She (along with my father) instilled in her children the mettle to succeed, and planted the seeds of faith so necessary in living a life of meaning and purpose. Somehow just to be with her gave me the strength and courage and desire to go on even when it seemed too hard, or when things made no sense. I wanted to please her, to be like her. Her strength of character was amazing and I don't remember ever hearing her say a negative thing about anyone, except herself. Often, especially in her later days, when my mother felt she failed at something or did or said something she believed was "stupid", or she became forgetful, she would severely chastise herself. She saw those moments as weakness; I saw them as simply human.

It's very difficult to lose someone who has such an impact on your life, and not a day goes by that I don't think of her, say a prayer for her, remember her, miss her. She will always be my mother, my friend, and though I fall far short, my role model. And my dearest mother, always and forever, I Am Your Child...

Silent March

2009-03-02T12:08:00.010-05:00

Top to Bottom: Maple Farm and Mad River on State Route 287 in West Liberty, Ohio (Logan County)

No time of year presents a more certain dose of reality, or reminds us more strongly that nature does not abide by our timetable, than March. This morning, with warm thoughts and dreams of spring still in my head (despite needing the extra down quilt on my bed last night), I awoke to frozen pipes in the bathroom and Bernie's cable (with which we chain her outside) snapped completely in half from the cold. Apparently, much to my dismay, March has decided to forgo the "in like a lamb" scenario this year.

The Mad River still has patches of ice where the river seems only to be a little trickle of water left over from a late winter rainfall. Local weather reports still talk of wind chills, and the choicest logs from a recent truckload of wood are burning furiously in the wood stove. But living in the country, and with an open mind, one begins to notice the early heralds of spring around this time of year, assuring that, indeed, spring is just around the corner.

I love driving down State Route 287 through West Liberty, Ohio. Though it can be tricky to maneuver the hills and winding curves after a fresh snow, beauty is nonetheless lurking, even in winter. This stretch of road is a buffet for the eyes, at times wooded areas or fields and wide-open spaces, at times artistically spaced farmhouses—sometimes new and impeccable, sometimes in need of repair (and offering a certain beauty of their own). In autumn the trees here are especially bright and colorful and I find it hard to keep my eyes on the winding roads when driving. Even in winter after a new snow, the hills and valleys are lambent in the sun or moonlight, evidence of the simple shimmering purity which remains in nature. Depending on whether you're traveling through this area in mid-summer or early October, also on the menu are rows and rows of corn, alternating from emerald green to a deep coppery, almost incandescent glow in the shining sun. The daylillies and little clumps of multi-colored wild flowers in spring and summer are quite profuse, fragrant and especially lovely.

As in all of life, one thing you can always count on in nature is change, and while I don't like change, I always look forward to and am excited by the change of seasons. It signals a new beginning fertile with possibility, and adds a little spice to my routine. But I always seem to be caught off guard by one particular presentiment of spring, which, after living here for 20 years I should well expect: the bright red pails which suddenly appear in a large grove of maple trees on Route 287. They are a surprising and welcome burst of color in the otherwise dull gray-brown of winter's coup de grâce. It's time for maple syrup again, and all things warm and sweet. It's March, sweetest of months, flowing like syrup into our midst, allowing us to savor life's fullness once again.

Silent March

Though she may arrive
Silently, lamb-like
March cannot hide

Her bright red pails
Handily hung
Give her away,

Announce her arrival
With the pomp and ceremony
Of a royal entourage,
Signaling the time
For mapling once again

March, sweetest of months,
Flows like syrup into our midst
Allowing us to savor life’s fullness

All That Remains...

2009-02-24T12:09:00.005-05:00

I recently watched one of my favorite movies, The Remains of the Day, for the third time. I remember seeing it for the first time with my mother in 1993 in the theatre. As the final music played on and the credits rolled, we each sat silently in our seats in the dark for the longest time unable to emit anything vocal except a sigh, virtually paralyzed from the emotional impact. The feeling was not watered down, seeing this movie for the third time.

The story is about a man who lives his life quite perfunctorily, sadly devoid of anything but his day-to-day routine. "Stevens" is head butler at the estate of the politically engaged Lord Darlington during pre-WWII England. So rigid is he (Stevens) that he is not moved by a request for friendship, the tragic death of his father, his master's misguided Nazi sympathies or the pleadings of his own heart. Unfortunately, in his attempt to avoid pain, he has also avoided life. The movie ends, many years later, with Stevens regretting his life as a "spectator", and his attempt to amend, perhaps counteract what his actions--or lack thereof--had wrought. Through Stevens (and his determination to bring justice to the world by simply serving his master and humanity) we are nudged into thoughts of our own moral responsibility. Is it enough to just do our duty, to follow rules, to do what is expected of us? Is this what life is about?

This is the story of us all, in that we can sometimes go through life without any enjoyment, any involvement or connection with what truly matters, leaving us to ask "Is that all there is?". Are we afraid to even say "hello" to another person, to make eye contact, to let people into our lives? Do we take the time to actually engage another person, to listen and respond, or do we say "Hi, how are you" as if it was part of a script and simply walk away without expecting or wanting an answer? Sometimes all it takes is one word, one smile, one gesture to change someone's life--and maybe your own.

Too often we let our preconceived notions about people dictate whether we will acknowledge them. And we certainly don't like to become involved in anything if there is the slightest chance we will be inconvenienced, or might get hurt. It's sad, really, because we can miss out on so much because of our fears and misguided judgments.

Some years ago, one of my sons had attended a concert and was outside mingling with people afterward. A woman came up to him and began rattling on about nothing really discernible. She smelled odd and looked dirty and went on and on about nothing in particular. But he listened, nodded, smiled and talked with her. This went on for a few minutes and then she left. But before walking away, she turned to him and said "Thank you for saving my life.".

If, indeed "all the world's a stage" as Shakespeare said, (As You Like It) I, for one, certainly always walk on stage heart in hand. This does not always bring about applause immediately--maybe not at all. And sometimes my role causes more pain than anything else. Suffice it to say that I may never win the award for best actress, but I can honestly say that being a player is much more gratifying than just watching the show.

So Cold the Winter

so cold the winter
so cold
the hearts of some
afraid
the ice will melt

so cold are some
so frightened
to offer love
cautious
of giving too much

so protected are they
so sad
the hearts of some
safe
and empty without love

Thoughts on the First Day of Lent

2009-02-23T14:52:00.002-05:00

I Am Here

And who comforts you?
Who reaches to grasp your hand,
I wonder, when your tears appear

Rife as rain, falling
From the tortured sky
Into which we blindly gaze
With prayerful pleas.

What more can you offer,
What signs strategically placed
Along the paths we travel
Can make us even begin

To understand the wind
Is your gasp of pain,
Your heart-rending cry,
The thunder its distant echo.

When the rocks we aim
At each other strike your heart,
When the pain becomes unbearable,
Who comforts you, my Lord,
Who comforts you?

(c) Monica Ellen Smith
(Inspired by Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ")

Review of Kindred: A Family Portrait

2009-02-23T11:34:00.007-05:00

Kindred: A Family Portrait (available from: amazon.com; barnesandnoble.com and iuniverse.com)
by Laurel Johnson (artist, writer and book reviewer for Midwest Book Review

Poetry by Monica E. Smith
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive, Bloomington IN 47403
9781440104299 $11.95

"…home is that sacred place we feel we belong." For Monica E. Smith, and in fact for most of us, that place is nature. Forests, lakes, oceans, mountains, flora and fauna are our family, our kindred. Ms. Smith's poetry and Sam Rusztyn's illustrations accent that belief beautifully throughout this comforting book.

Nature provides order, harmony, purity, and grace to humans forced frequently to live in chaos and uncertainty. This excerpt from "(Un)like the Bird" is a perfect example:

But, unlike the bird
Which takes wing
On flights of fancy
In a moment's notice,
I am grounded
By my own uncertainty

"Passage" is an exceptional commentary on the past, present, and future of trees, and a touching metaphor for life itself:

Among the fallen
Lay the ancient ones,
Beautiful in death
As they were in life
Petrified, they remain still
Where once they stood tall
Nodding their delight
In the evening breeze
And yet, as in testimony
To resurrection
They shine in splendor,
Vivid and brilliant, gilded
In morning sunlight

Nature teaches us patience, fortitude, and how to stand through trying times. Humans flounder through minutes and hours where Nature counts time in eons. This excerpt from "Telegraphy" is a haunting reminder of the lessons to be learned from observing the effect of changing times and seasons:

…if you could see beyond
The physical, see beyond
Human perception, perhaps
You could envision the connection
Between life and death, understand
That they are two halves
Of the same whole, perhaps

Monica E. Smith takes readers to "those shallow shoals of Heaven's amaranthine shores…" and beyond in this poetic paean to Nature. Kindred is an encouraging, uplifting joy.

Life with a Jack-a-Bee

2009-02-20T13:26:00.008-05:00

Excerpt from Dog-matized: The Comical Truth of Life with a Jack-a-Bee
(available from blurb)

Bernie does not like baths. On one particular occasion I attempted this apparently insulting activity and she was nowhere to be found...I finally found her under our bed, flat as a pancake—as if that would make her invisible—holding on to the floor with her claws like she was going to fall off.

There would be no bath that day. I did not want to traumatize her further, softy that I am. I may be soft, but I am getting smarter. She seems to be able to differentiate whether I'm taking a shower or it's time for her bath, so I do not turn on the water until I have her safely in hand and in the bathroom...I then close the door so she cannot escape and proceed with the bath. Hey, it works. Although, I almost feel guilty when I see her standing there shivering in the tub, ears drooping, big eyes looking at me like I have just tortured her. Almost.

The Dead of Winter

2009-02-20T13:06:00.003-05:00

January 23, 5:49 pm

The dead of winter has passed, the days beginning to last longer again, with spring surely just around the corner. But the weather doesn’t seem to realize that. There is some relief today, with the frigid temperatures which kept us company most of this month on the wane. However, it is not to last long. Below zero temperatures and more snow is on the way in the next few days.

I have always loved these days of wood fires, blankets and hot cocoa. It seems that, as I age, they are more oppressive—the cold is painful, the darkness darker, the nights longer and empty.

I received an unexpected uplifting of spirit today. A co-worker, who had bought both of my poetry books recently, told me she had read them both feverishly one night. She wanted to tell me how “good” I am, what wonderful books they are, how amazing it is that “I know” what people feel. She just wanted me to know that. She is not someone I work with often, but we know each other fairly well because of the number of years we have worked together. So it was quite a generous and heady compliment, to know that my writing “touched” her, as she repeatedly told me. I am still reeling from the high. This is what I have always said was important in the writing of (my) poetry, to touch someone, that poetry creates a bond with another in this knowing, touching, feeling. And yet, as I always feel the need to do, I felt myself wanting to apologize that the writing wasn’t better, tell her that I know it isn’t selling, that it won’t sell, feeling the need to justify my work in some way. But we were both in a hurry to get to our respective assignments and so, the compliment was left shining in my head, as some precious gem glinting in sunlight, from which I have to shield my eyes.

It is always so hard for me to accept praise, though this is what, admittedly, I need, to hear that someone feels my writing is good, that it moved him or her, that it had merit. I wish I could believe that it does. Though, even in this state of unworthiness, I continue to write, to want to create, to do more.

Friday, February 13, 2009

I was thinking today about how I sometimes feel so lonely--so lonely to the point of tears. But all loneliness is not equal. There can be happiness, or maybe contentment, in some loneliness, in that a person might miss someone terribly; but when there is a connection there, and reciprocal love and caring, the loneliness is more tolerable. You will see the person again at some point, and in the meantime, there are the wonderful memories of times together, and the looking forward to the next time together. And that makes all the difference. I am so blessed. My children, all grown to adulthood now, live here and there. And I miss them terribly, not only their childhood, but the adults they have now become. The wonderful thing is that they continue to want to spend time with us, entertaining and doing things together; and that fills my heart so full. They have become, somewhat, peers; and so my children have gone, but I have gained, through them, friends.

One Man's Trash...

2005-08-07T18:51:00.003-05:00

A lovely Sunday evening without much to do. I was going to complain about the heat and humidity, but I thought it better to thank God that I am alive to feel it. I could complain, too, that I am not wealthy. But I thought it better to thank God for the splendid roof over my head, the good food on my table and my ability to cook it. I suppose we always want for more. Human nature. But today, I am happy and content. I have a wonderful husband and 4 beautiful (grown) children I love very much, and of whom I am extremely proud. Today, I do not want for more, but thank God for His blessings and His grace when it is needed. I am very rich indeed...

One Man’s Trash...

A flower blossoms
Near a weed.
Could it be
They are of one seed?
One seems flawless,
Pleases the eyes,
The other a beggar,
It’s worth disguised.

One is fragile,
Requiring much care,
The other resilient
But when choosing, beware.
One will be picked
To grace our lives,
The other forgotten,
But who is deprived?

Who is to tell?
Who knows, indeed,
Which is the flower
And which, a weed?
The eye of the beholder
Can truly see
Which is a flower,
Which the weed.

Peace All,
Monica Ellen