"A Surf-Song Suite" - The Clones

we call it Spring

we call it Spring

thousands of bees create a perennial humming
among the crabapple tree that flowers,
blossoms flutter soft landing like dry snowflakes
near where the rabbits pause to listen and sniff
green ever greener
color punctuates this splendor
a lively landscape painting
an annual affair

Something In the Way They Moved

Well, we made a promise we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Like soldiers in the winter's night
with a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Bruce Springsteen                                          


Like those who were motivated to march, rally and demonstrate I feel a need to say something about the events of January 21 and the aftermath. I did not travel by car, train, bus or plane but was transported by a spirit that moved a mass of humanity. My wife, sister in-law, my oldest daughter and many close friends, male and female did come from  near and far to do something they felt they needed to do. I watched it unfold in the weeks and days before as my wife packed, created signage, my golf buddy prepared food for their group, others knitted hats and the conversations grew about what you would need and how to be safe, peaceful and in control. On the day of the march I watched it develop on the day of at home, on my computer stream and the TV screen. I could see and hear things up close from the DC stage where my wife Mary was and from afar looking over Chicago, L.A., Miami, Charlotte, St. Louis, Paris and where my daughter was in Boston. I felt pride in their effort. I am not sure how one could not be moved or inspired unless you're political views blind you so that the physicality and spirituality of this day caused you to lose sight of what was happening.

The newly sworn in president chose to say nothing about the gatherings as was probably well advised by his closest confidants.I believe he missed out on an opportunity to reach out and show he may have understood their energy or concerns but he did not. Another one for the disappointment column.

My motivation to blog about this is brought about by one central question. What motivated, compelled, moved all these folks to plan out and leave the comfort of their homes, towns and families, squeeze together in the middle of winter into the vans, buses and trains, in some cases travel all night, lose sleep, spend hard earned money and band together in places many had never been to express something they were deeply concerned with in their hearts and minds? What was so important to each of them, personally and collectively to join in on this day as one?  I believe they did it out of love, to overcome the fear they felt for their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters uncertain futures and the changes they see coming with potentially negative consequences.

Something flipped a switch in their ordinary lives to make them want to Do Something extraordinary. They certainly accomplished a first step in making their voices heard.

So they returned to their hometowns after making history with their rallies, marches, demonstrations, their tears, their laughter, their music, their tribes of millions. New bonds were forged, making them stronger in the process. Nobody was seriously hurt as they came in peace believing that their actions might make a difference.A difference in the lives of those without privilege, without much of a political voice. They represented those women with a deep concern for their sisters and brothers well being and the Mother Earth we all inhabit.

If the 'Women's March' becomes a movement that affects change will remain to be seen. If they feed off the memories of the spirit and energy of that day and events, then those that I know will remain a force that will try to fight the powers that be with their voices, their own buying power as heads of households, and as nurturers in their family trees and networks of friends that spread out vast and wide. No Retreat, Baby, No Surrender! 

Photos courtesy of Ashley K. and Mary E.

The Year in Rehab

Institutional Rehabs are not places you want to spend a lot of time. In the past year I have been a visitor, caregiver more times than I care to count. Most of the work there is positive and done for the right reasons, the need unfortunately is huge but at times these facilities can be dehumanizing, nauseating, frustrating and depressing. From Kalamazoo, to metro Detroit to Foley, Alabama I have made visits to support, aid and encourage  my loved ones and others. Most notably my mother and step-mother. I also have had other family and friends who this year needed rehabbing of some sort or another. From cancer, fractured bones to broken hips and hearts in need of repair. In addition in Kalamazoo I volunteer at a hospital where my work space just happens to be near the re-hab unit. I have been witness to all these folks working on ways to get better.

There has been a certain amount of recovery from heartbreak in our family this year as well and I will not delve into specifics here but note that emotional rehabbing is another form of coming out of a tumble, fall or crash that requires maybe not physical therapy but some type of recuperation of the soul. We can overcome these obstacles and be stronger with conscious work and time.To say it requires patience and understanding is an understatement.

My time spent with my moms, visiting them in rehab is done out of love and devotion. Helping them to heal in a time of need is a gift to the giver as much as receiver. The time Mary and I spent in Alabama not only involved my step-mom but we assisted my father for a couple of weeks with driving, meals, shopping, etc. I could and someday may write a whole short story of that time we spent with him; caring for him and sharing in Beverly's recuperation and our trip getting back to Michigan. Laughs, tears, frustrations but lasting memories were made over the 3 weeks we spent together. Like the midnight scramble down the stairs with my dad and his walker for a false alarm fire drill. The time spent with them, of course, priceless.

Our country, our world is facing a challenge of our collective restorative abilities. Our aging democracy in in rehab. It is in some constant state of healing or so we need to believe. Can we work it out? I think we must first look within and find our own peace before we can know for sure what action as individuals we can take to "take a sad song and make it better", (thank you Beatles). Creativity in a time of uncertainty should be an everyday goal.

Of course we hope the holidays put us in an inherent search for kindness, giving,  The season makes us anxious to seek the perfect, and the goodness in ourselves and others. Let it be a solid something that lasts longer than a couple of days.

Leonard Cohen in his passing, left us some words of wisdom for times like these, during the longest days of the darkness of winter solstice, hope does spring. from his song Anthem,

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in

May you find your light,  ☆
Sreno
December 2016

Now What

Now What was the working title of my latest collection of writing but I changed it as I always had Raiding the Icebox lurking. in my files. So Now What? seems appropriate this day after the election, after the pendulum has swung back the other way. After all this Democracy thing is an experiment of just over a couple hundred years that is by no means perfect with no guarantees of longevity. Compared to ancient history we have a ways to go.

As does Shock and Awe, Say No to the Status Quo, and SHAKING ALL OVER! I feel compelled as an observer and writer of sorts to put something down this morning after a not so restful sleep, as I am sure many experienced last night.

I have an urge to do something as dramatic as took place yesterday: sell the house, move somewhere rich and warm, or far off the beaten path, try and make my modest holdings as close and protected as possible.

Then I come back to two words that guide me most days as our world turns: struggle and joy.
Many of us have it better than most of the world's populations. We will always have struggle as part of our existence and if lucky a fair amount of  joy will come to most of us over time, if we let it happen. We cannot look too far down the road but stay in the here and now, ( my second name for book), and know all things must and will pass.

We can plant our own seeds of positivity each day, through thoughts and actions. Take the high road and be our own change. It is going to rain and snow, strong winds will blow, rivers will rise and fall, sun will shine, it is thus and so, the flux and flow.

raid the icebox

a preview

we all feel the same sun
we all may try and lasso the same moon
give it a go

Accept-dance

As my mother read about acceptance at Thanksiving
 I wondered
what it meant
to accept, forgive, and heal
from a break-up or breakdown
a death or significant change.
Do we accept the status quo?
Do we accept the violence in our lives?
Do we accept refugees as neighbors?
Is our children's pain our own?
Who are we as individuals, as humans?
Do we let it be?
Can we we accept the balance of struggle and joy, move on, and act?
Mother says be patient,
  wait for it
to change in an organic fashion
  like a river moving stones gradually,
   waves altering the shoreline
morphing into new flowing forms

of an accept-dance.