Tag: sons

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Mothers and Sons

Today, as I’m writing, is Mother’s Day. I’m thinking of motherhood and childhood, of course–being a mother and having a mother. For this, I direct you to a favorite Billy Collins poem called “The Lanyard.” I’ve been handing out copies of it all over the place. Yesterday a woman eagerly asked, “Are you Billy?” Ah, no. Anyway, I’m going to copy it below for you to read, if you like, but also, if you click here, you can listen to Billy Collins himself reading it. I send this to my sons every Mother’s Day. If you don’t read it or listen to it, I’m sorry for you. If you do, I guarantee it will make you smile.

I expected to have daughters. I have three baby girl outfits still packed away in a trunk. Yet I have three sons. I have come to believe that once you have two boy babies and you get pregnant again, you’ll have another boy. It’s a given. And won’t you be lucky! At least, I have been. Although I never had confidence in myself as a mother, I must have done at least some little thing right, because I have three loving sons. Loving, irreverent, whip smart, creative, adventurous, smart aleck, inventive, generous, handsome sons. They have made me feel lucky, loved, and happy.

So then, related but not closely, I said last week that I had offered poems to anyone not dangerous looking. The very day that I sent that letter out, I saw a youngish guy approaching on the path around the lake. Tattoos all over, even on his face, a rough look, combat boots and shorts, a big backpack with things hanging off of it. We said hello and I thought, well, why not? “Hey,” I called out as he passed, “would you like a poem?” He turned and said, “I would love a poem. Thank you, ma’am.” He began reading it immediately, so I gave him another one (Alice Walker’s “Expect Nothing”) and we parted ways.

I walked away a little bit dumbstruck, not sure what I had expected. But again, the power of poetry! Of words. He still looked rough around the edges, and he didn’t really ever smile or look me in the eyes, but he was polite and thankful. I wondered about his situation, what his mother was like, how he grew up, and whether or not he was in trouble. What’s his story? Is he homeless? I hope he has a mother that he’ll contact today. I hope he is okay, happy enough, safe.

I’m immensely grateful that my sons are healthy, happy, safe and sound, and living good lives. And that we all love each other. Isn’t that what we all want for each other?

The Lanyard
By Billy Collins
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy lightand taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truththat you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.“The Lanyard” from The Trouble With Poetry: and Other Poems by Billy Collins, copyright © 2005 by Billy Collins. Used by permission of Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.
If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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Mountains! Mountains!

I just returned from a week at Rocky Mountain National Park with eight women friends. Again, I feel transformed.

I have always said I’m an ocean person. Well, I am. I love the ocean. Most of these gals would love to live in the mountains. That has never been me. Driving across Colorado to see family in California, I’ve of course admired the beauty of the Rockies. I’ve oohed and ahhed at the magnificence each time I drove through, and I certainly felt lucky to be where I was. But my spirit has never been particularly drawn to the mountains.

Well, I suppose things can change, even within a 72-year-old heart. I suppose one can have more than one love, more than one heart’s destination.

Now I so wish I’d spent more time at RMNP all these years that I’ve lived in Missouri. I am only a long day’s drive from there. I wish I’d taken my sons there when they were young, maybe even every summer. Why not? We could so easily have done that. We went to the Grand Canyon, Zion, Yosemite, Bandolier, all camping or backpacking trips–but never to RMNP, which is so much closer. Why? I can’t know. I cannot fathom a reason–but that is one of those things you just have to let go.

Everyone knows the Rockies are absolutely breathtaking! I’ve always loved the constant motion of the ocean, but in the mountains you have the constantly moving clouds, settling comfortably in a valley, sitting high enough above to cast their unique shadows across the earth, or completely obscuring the whole mountain range in a second or two–and then sailing away, rising, or disappearing. Poof! There’s that view again. I could sit and watch that dance, one that is not unlike that of the sea and the shore, for hours.

Look where I was!

I was able to hike, and even to hike for six hours one day, despite my worries about the altitude and breathing. We were able to hike up, on foot, to the beautiful mountain lakes and to marvel at the amazing vistas spread before us. I am so grateful for that, for my friends, for my body, for the mountains which do so change one’s perspective. And I myself am changed. I am so very grateful for all of this! And I will go back. I hope to go back again and again.

So we walked and hiked a lot in the thin air, and we breathed, and we paused often, and there were magnificent views as well as pretty little wildflowers. And there was picture taking and eating and stargazing and searching for bull moose and bear and bighorn sheep, and listening for the bull elks’ mating call.

So I’ve come away from a trip yet again with many thoughts, reflections, and realizations. Though it breaks my heart a little every time I say goodbye to my dogs, travel is good for the heart, mind, and soul. And I am immensely grateful for all that I have.

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home.”― John Muir

“I like the mountains because they make me feel small,’ Jeff says. ‘They help me sort out what’s important in life.” ― Mark Obmascik, Halfway to Heaven

“She was nothing before that view, these mountains. As insignificant to any of it as one of the stones that still rattled in her boot. It was a blessed relief, to be nothing and no one.” ― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Open Open Open

One morning not too long ago I was walking my dogs up the street and there, on the curb, was a smudged piece of paper with the words OPEN OPEN OPEN on them. Well! I picked it up, of course. It had to be meant for me and it had to be a sign. I’m always saying I want to stay open–to people, places, things, and ideas–so I took this as the universe saying, “Here. Stick this on your wall and do it!”

Turning it over, I saw that it was a sheet of sandpaper. ? Odd, but beside the point. I brought it home and set it down somewhere here in my studio with all the other scraps of paper and pieces of thing that I need to do something with, i.e. it’s not on the wall–yet. Also beside the point. The point is, I took it as a sign.

Found it!

Possibly as you’re reading this, I am on my way to or already in Taiwan. Whoa! My son invited me to go, I took a breath (many breaths, really) and said YES. He wants me to go enough to have bought me a ticket! And he wants us to rent bikes and ride the coast. As I said, I took many breaths. But I thought, If I don’t do a thing like this now, at 71, when would I? And even though just the fact that he asked is enough in itself to make me feel very much loved and happy, the actual going will have to be even more amazing. I can just imagine the opening that will happen, with so many new experiences.

So I will fly to California and visit siblings and their kids and then, from there, fly for 14 hours to Taipei. (Many many breaths.) In Taipei, the Taiwan Lantern Festival will be taking place. Whoa. My eyeballs will be filled with the wonder of it all. The theme of the Festival is “Light Up the Future.” It is a celebration of blessings, ushering in the first full moon of the Lunar New Year. It is all about hope, light, and reaching new heights. I feel that it fits right in with that scrap of paper commanding me to “Open! Open! Open!”

I will report back upon my return.

“Make your ego porous. Will is of little importance, complaining is nothing, fame is nothing. Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke

“Let go of certainty. The opposite isn’t uncertainty. It’s openness, curiosity and a willingness to embrace paradox . . . . ” ― Tony Schwartz

“That’s the funny thing about life. Extraordinary things can happen to ordinary people like you and me, but only if we open ourselves up enough to let them.” ― Mike Gayle, All the Lonely People

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Gentle Highlights

I’m not talking about hair color. I’m thinking of all the soft high points to the events of a life. In the last couple of weeks I had my solo show opening and reception; family and friends visiting; Thanksgiving; and then my Holiday Open Studio. Although the show opening was a very big life event for me, the things that stand out today, after all is done and dusted, are those small things that mean so much.

My son Peter and my sister Mary flew in from the East and West Coasts. Many friends and acquaintances showed up for the opening and Peter put the hard sell on a few of them. He poured wine at the reception, took photos, bought paintings himself. His girlfriend sent flowers. At dinner after, with family and friends, I looked down the long table at all these important people in my life, loving how much they were enjoying each other, and I made a little speech of thanks, especially for everything my two sons had done to make this happen. Oliver had seen me through the early days of trying to paint, photographed all the pieces, tried to salvage my homemade frames and ultimately framed and wired the paintings properly. I wanted to thank them publicly.

Peter putting the hard sell on his former PE teacher

Mary and Peter stayed on for Thanksgiving, which was so much fun for me. They doubled our usual number for Thanksgiving dinner. The four of us, my two sons and we two sisters, worked hard but convivially together to make a fabulous meal, along with hand cranked ice cream. We ate like great pigs. The four of us played games after dinner, and Mary won all of them! She and I played Christmas duets on the piano when the boys were out. We took many walks in all my favorite places. The dogs were loved upon.

It was the first Thanksgiving in many years that I had not made a list of all I’m thankful for. I really didn’t need to write anything down. All the things are very present with me.

After Mary and Peter had both gone, I jumped right into getting ready for my Open Studio. It twas great, but again, it’s the small moments that I will remember, the people, the friends, old and new, the ones who surprised me as well as the faithful. All the little things stand out. An artist sent me a note, thanking me for sending people to her sale, despite uncomfortable history between us. A neighbor who didn’t realize I’d started painting came to see, and looked carefully through my book from the show. A young abstract artist I barely know looked through the book, too. He was full of praise, invited me to come and talk art with him! And there was so much more. There always is, I think, so much more.

Yes, having a solo show of my paintings is a very big deal to me. But all of the quiet moments are, too.

“Life is not measured by time. It is measured by moments.” ― Armin Houman

“Everyone has the desire to freeze a wonderful moment they are in, just like a camera, and stay in that moment forever!” ― Mehmet Murat Ildan

“You must collect moments. Those will be the true wealth of your soul.” ― Liviu C. Tudose

If you’d like to see my paintings online, go here. If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Christmas Past Present & Future?

Although winter, the cold, and all the clothes one has to wear try my patience, I do love Christmas. It was, of course, more fun both when I was a child and when my boys were little. I have lots of fond Christmas memories. But even now I love the whole idea of it, the lights, the special meals, the carols, the gift buying, the secrets, the festive atmosphere, and of course, the cookies.

When we were kids, on Christmas Eve our aunt and grandmother would come over and we would be sent upstairs while Santa arrived. My dad would do the “HoHoHo-ing” at some point and soon after, we were called downstairs again. Wow! Presents were piled under the tree. I’m not sure why, but at least as far as I knew, none of us ever wondered how my parents knew just when Santa would arrive or why Santa would have been okay with them being there when he brought the gifts. We just enjoyed it as it was. And one year, my sister Pat claimed she had seen a sleigh and reindeer in the sky!

When Cole was still pretty little, he asked for and received a dog for his birthday. I still have the note he left for Santa that year, and I get it out every Christmas so I can hold it and smile over it. “If you have a extra bone we have a new dog.” So modest and so sweet. Peter, on the other hand, suspecting that I was Santa, left a large onion on a plate on the mantel, rather than cookies. Santa left him a note that said, “Dear Peter, Thanks for the onion, but onions give me gas and Mrs. Claus hates that.” I ended up making that into a Christmas card. He also rigged up some bells on his stocking one year, with the idea of catching Santa in the act.

We have always had dogs, but Miles is the one who has loved Christmas the most. He has a good nose, so he found the stockings filled with treats quite intriguing. But more fun, since he loves tearing paper, he likes to help open our gifts. It brings a bit of zaniness to Christmas and a rather jolly mess to the living room floor.

Miles in the wrappings and Rufus in his Santa hat

Now our Christmases are usually cozy–just me, Oliver, Miles and Rufus–but we have a good time. (Miles gets to open the gifts.) Once in awhile, Peter or Cole will come in from NYC, and once in a great while, both! But not often. And one day, I’d like to be in NYC at Christmas time. But it’s a difficult time to travel and now even moreso. I think we all wonder, will it ever be as we all remember? I like to think it might be even better.

I have an adorable six-year-old piano student from Greece. His mother told me he was ready for Christmas, as he had written his letter to Santa. I asked him in an animated voice, “Are you going to go see Santa?” and he said solemnly, “No. Coronavirus.” Sigh. I hope Santa brings him everything he asked for. And I hope you get everything you’re wanting this year, whatever that may be.

“One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.” ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

“One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.” ― Andy Rooney

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Nudges

Brandywine Falls at Cuyahoga Valley National Park

I recently went on a big trip. I’d been longing to see my son, Peter, whom I had not seen for over two years. He and his brother live in New York. Cole was home for two nice long stretches of time in the past year but Peter, no. I talked about it with various people and almost every one of them encouraged me to go. Do it. Go. I made half-hearted plans to fly out, and even booked a flight. But I still felt reluctant. You hear all kinds of stories about air travel these days. And I hate to leave Miles, who is so much my dog that he gets a stomach ache whenever I am away overnight. So I cancelled my flight.

Peter and his girlfriend bought a house a little ways upstate near the Hudson River last April, and I really wanted to see it. They have woods and their land borders the Appalachian Trail. They have lots of room. He suggested that my youngest son and I put the dogs in the car and drive out. Hmm. Miles hates riding in the car. Rufus has all those health issues. Peter and Anne have cats and my dogs treat cats as squirrels–something to chase. It seemed too difficult.

My two sons, on a bluff behind FDR’s home overlooking the Hudson River and railroad tracks

Then, serendipitously and independently, a friend and I both heard about Cuyahoga Valley National Park, situated in Ohio, roughly between Cleveland and Akron. We both love the idea of visiting all of the National Parks. And I had learned that an old friend of mine lives inside the park! Jan asked if I would be interested in taking a 4-day weekend to go there. But I had noticed that this park is situated a little more than halfway between here and New York. Hmm. I mentioned this. Jan thought we could drive to Ohio, explore the park, and she could fly back to St. Louis from Cleveland. I figured I could drive the rest of the way to New York.

That was the first nudge that really took. How could I say no to that? It seemed like a very good plan. And then Peter offered to drive back to St. Louis with me! The final nudge that was just too good to pass up. This trip was meant to be. And so it became a real thing.

I steeled myself against anxiety about leaving my dogs.

Jan and I made plans for our drive and the park. I got in touch with my old friend. And off we went. I bought tickets for Peter and I to go to the Frank Lloyd Wright house, Fallingwater, in Pennsylvania, on our drive back to Missouri. Peter took the whole week off work and Cole, miraculously, was able to work from home for a good part of my visit. Everything fell right into place.

It was a marvelous trip, filled with fun, laughter, oh so much natural beauty, hiking, walking, art, and best of all, freewheeling, easy time with my boys. It absolutely filled up my heart. This was a trip that went beyond any expectations that I had. I could not have conjured a more wondrous time.

So, these nudges. I think it’s important to pay attention to them but also to pick and choose. All those other ones, from well-meaning friends and family just did not feel quite right to me. I went with my gut by saying no to those others but YES! when it finally did feel just right. And the result tells the story. I am practically full up to bursting with love and lightness.

So I’m saying, especially these days (we all keep saying phrases like this), don’t let anyone else’s grit and spunk push you to do something you’re not ready for. We’re all wild and adventurous in our own (sometimes quiet) ways. Sure, look at the options for whatever it is you long to do–but let yourself see how each one of those options feels inside of you. And then maybe act on those little nudges that feel just right, the ones that truly do speak to your heart.

“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” – Nelson Mandela

“Who can really say how decisions are made, how emotions change, how ideas arise? We talk about inspiration; about a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, but perhaps everything is just as simple and just as infinitely complex as the processes that make a particular leaf fall at a particular moment. That point has been reached, that’s all. It has to happen, and it does happen.” – John Ajvide Lindqvist, Harbor

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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All That’s Needed

Quarter-sized hail came banging down and I

crossed the fingers on my two hands hoping

I might get a new roof out of it for free & oh let’s

go all the way, new siding for my house as well

& while we’re at it a whole set of windows

that go up & down easy as pie & I might as well

throw in loving sweethearts for each of my sons

actually why not just say loving sweethearts

for all young people and all right, the older ones too,

plus peace and happiness within all of our hearts,

the country and the world,

food on the table, nice homes, warm clothes,

all that’s needed for All to survive and thrive.  All.

Whyever and forever not?

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Perfect Things

Have they gone, this summer’s cicadas, unnoticed by me

after the pact I made to note each day their noisy presence

so that I would know, in the end, the last time I heard them sing?

Folly on my part I suppose as, truly, do I remember (no)

the last kiss of the lover who one day to shock and chagrin

called the whole thing off, the unimagined last words spoken

by that distant friend now passed on, the final toothy grin flashed

by the little white dog I dearly loved, the last time my

chubby toddler spoke with his sweet little boy impediment,

the last time his brother’s adolescent voice cracked

before it went forever deeply male?

Even aiming to know and hold them close,

I’ve lost those perfect things even as they passed.

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Two Straight Arrows

That woman’s two sons died together in a car crash

two teenagers off on their way to work

two straight arrows she said they were

and when she told me tears sprang

as it is so often said right into my eyes.

How did she bear it? I wonder for

I have certainly imagined such a thing

many times when my own sons have

stayed gone longer than seemed

explainable in some other way.

I don’t know how she bore it or how

she bears it now, so many years later.

I hear these stories from strangers

who pass right along through my life

on their way to whatever private

challenges they face, these stories

that live someplace inside me, the

lovely and the terrible making a

kind of fierce patchwork I could

easily hide beneath.

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Patience

Queen Anne’s Lace does not seem

to mind the extreme heat or even

the lack of rain one tiny bit.

She stands perfectly erect with

exquisite bearing, her pretty white

head of lace held high and proud.

One can easily see why someone

thought to call her Queen.

The Great Aunt used to cut and dry

the flowers hung by their toes in the barn

for her large showy dried flower arrangements.

Oh she showed me all about it once but I

was too impatient ever to do a thing

that required all that long time of waiting.

That is not for me though I waited

nine months apiece for my three babies

my favorite projects of all.