I took a walk just yesterday
And watched the wind and leaves at play
I thought how simple it must be
To be the wind and know you’re free.
I thought about the drifting leaves
Somersaulting through the trees
And oh what visions you will find
As with the breeze you twist and wind.
Your voyage ends upon the ground
Is this Paradise you have found ?
These are the dreams that we’ve forgot
They’ll linger long or tarry not
Because we are all that we’ve got
This is our goal, our life, our lot !
I miss my mom, I miss my dad
And all the friends that I once had
I miss the way life used to be
When joy and hope and peace were free.
These days are gone just blown away
With lost remains of yesterday
Oh how I pray and often yearn
For oldtime pleasures glad return.
I realise now this won’t be
Seems most of it was not that free
I’ve tried quite hard to be aware
And understand with love and care
Here in this world the future brings
Broad visions of lifes happenings.
A sagging roof, a window vine
A tattered dress upon the line,
A shutter bangs against the wall
A bottle breaks out in the hall,
A shingle clacks against the house
A trap is set for wayward mouse,
The steps are old and thick with rust
The structure groans with each wind’s gust,
The ceiling creaks with o’erhead strain
The water trickles down the drain,
The trim is lined with peeling paint
A candle flicks upon a saint.
Here life at best seems times unjust
But tarries on because it must.
I am consumed with a wonderment of God’s world
Its untold secrets hid, its banners left unfurled
The promise of its vision clear now soon to come
Not by the will of man or beast to welcome some
With open heart, love of God and uncluttered mind,
The courage to accept the treasure we may find
No sacrifice can be too large to comprehend
The great beauty we shall know at our journey’s end.
I guess that life may be a mix of good and bad
A challenge of courage with outcome sometimes sad,
While thinking about it in modest simple ways
Let’s pray that we should learn to balance all our days
With care and moderation, cautious as we try
Beware of foolish aims that scheme to reach too high.
We do not wish to fail the last and final test
For in the end who dreams to be just second best?
Keep to the path you’ve chosen and follow ev’ry rule
Abide by all you trust and use each proper tool.
Near to the end be wise, accepting each new role
And thank those stars above you’ve earned your earthly goal.
SEEMS THIS PIECE GOT LOST ALONG THE WAY, ANYONE ?
Remember the peddlers? Well, I’m still in the 30’s and recalling that bygone era with much affection. Especially the iceman who came once a week the entire year long. We never questioned where the ice came from, much like today’s children who do not query the existence of Wi-Fi. How much we take for granted since Ben Franklin’s experiment with a simple kite in an open field. I think I was about three and we lived on Cambridge Avenue in Jersey City, close to the park on the first floor of a frame building with a wooden porch in front of three large railroad rooms with a shared toilet in the hall! It was just up the steep hill from Hoboken off Congress Street with cheaper rent. It was a very hot summer. If you wonder what “railroad” means think of trains, opening one into another minus wasted hallway space (of course no privacy). Two huge double-hung windows porchside and two in the kitchen, yardside, with wide walls in between, there were large pocketdoors on the front room to save coal in the winter. No bath! Enough said, a huge laundry tub and a folding screen next to the obligatory black iron coal stove with a giant water cauldron over the glowing embers, familiar to anyone? But back to the ice, my dad built a shelf for an oscillating fan and placed an enamel pan with a 10 cent piece of ice on top of the icebox, opened all the windows, and “voila”, old fashioned air conditioning for a dime. No radio, no TV, no online, just the bible, loads of conversation, love, family, neighbors, poverty and ingenuity! Great huh?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
May I share with you? But what shall it be? Big decision, the 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, I’m not sure where to begin as each era is shouting my name! I remember my daddy making “bathtub gin” and the horse and cart peddlers who sold ice by the piece. And stirring a pot as big as myself set on a black iron coal stove with a huge wooden paddle, boiling my baby sister’s diapers, on a homemade stool built just for me. Of course every yard had a huge wooden clothespole that reached for the sky with giant iron hooks where the clotheslines were tied. But the hooks didn’t start close to the ground for security’s sake, you needed a ladder at least ten feet tall. Yes, there were laundry thieves who could shinney hand over fist up that pole to steal sheets off the line. Those wash lines would occasionally fray and it took a juggler to replace them. My daddy taught me how, I was his only “son”, haha, for nine years which is why I am adept at “hammer and nails”. You listened in bed for the squeal of the pulley in case your neighbors were the victims! All pulleys made a noise, no way to silence them, no silicone to spray them. Most stores and homes had little jingle bells suspended on their entrance doors that welcomed all who came. Old habits die hard, I kept those bells on my doors until I moved to Florida to retire. I have a feeling that perhaps a return to the bell system might inhibit some burglars! Do you think it’s worth a try? Keep tuned, there’s more to follow!
Sincerely,
Claire B.
There is an old saying ” there are but two gifts we can give to our children, one is roots, the other is wings”, Anon. Well, I can assure you never were those words more true than in the America of the 1930’s ! And yes, we did go to bed hungry but we didn’t complain, what good would it have done? We simply learned to share, it became our way of life, that and the love of God sustained us ! I worked three jobs until the time of my marriage at age 25, close to “spinsterhood”. Keeping busy was the impetus of the day, and the time-worn admonition, “Idle hands do the devil’s work” was the familiar motto! We sure had roots as family was our “community” and wings translated into “dreams” of which there was always an abundance! How I miss the love that we knew then, it was free of conditions, fear and bribery. Can you imagine, love for the sake of affection?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
The beauty of aging is the peace that it brings
And the visions of life bearing hope on its wings
Like the wind in the trees in a timeless embrace
Caressing the dreams shining bright on this pale face.
So we travel along while expecting not much
Just the hint of a smile and the joy of a touch
With a wave of the hand and a quiet “good night”
As the eyes close in sleep “tis the end of the flight !
I have traveled so far along lifes thorny way
Searching for peace to follow the end of each day
As these days quickly fly like the turn of a page
We need courage and wisdom both cautious and sage.
I used to be married to this person I know
I must say that it was such a long time ago.
Perhaps had been better if a stranger were he
Unless one of us moves seems I’ll never be free
We live in this small town that’s only one mile square
If I shop in a store you can bet he’ll be there.
It has been forty long years since we shared a home
Much nicer this way as we are each on our own.
And now we are friends and can casually chat
About family and such, about this and that.
It’s been a long road the healing did not come quick
Looks like fate had a laugh and has played us a trick.
So here we are approaching the end of the trail
With our egos intact and a marriage that failed !
As I scurry about my daily plan
Rapidly rushing as fast as I can
A miraculous thing for one so old
It’s a job to warm my bones in the cold.
And if you don’t think that’s a chore itself
With a grunt and a groan, reach for a shelf
When your body’s progressed to this late stage
Folks give you a seat because of your age.
I laugh when I think that’s where I am at
I recall the days when men tipped their hat
Now they raise their hand ’til you cross the way
And wish you a greeting, ” Have a safe day ! ”
Whoever thought that I’d wind up like this
Just an old lady surviving with bliss?
I stand upon some mountain’s peak
To gather words with which I’ll speak,
Inform the world that I have learned
What wisdom bought and patience earned.
Too oft I’ve seen and much too late
That human love is laced with hate
And chiding words while meaning well
Through futile waste and time dispel
An arrow that lays deeply bound
Into the breast that it has found.
And so it is that as I strayed
I heard the ache of those who preyed,
I saw the grief of those who need
Much loving care and special heed.
I turned away and tip-toed passed
My pulse beat loud, my breath came fast
I bowed my head with hidden shame
And damned the cause for which I came
Such weariness within my soul
One endless search for self-control.
Am I not bold to travel on
To seek this myth of Avalon?
One rose does not a garden make
One blow does not a spirit break,
One wall does not a boundary build
One task marks not a craftsman skilled.
One tear cannot a river fill
Nor silence can a heartbeat still.
One hope that’s dashed against a wall
Can’t will a mind to halt or fall.
One plan that dies before its birth
Can’t cloud a life and all it’s worth.
One fear does not a coward curse
Nor anger sharpen speaker terse.
One wish does not a dreamer hail
One song creates no nightingale.
One thought that carries on its breath
One psalm to lift the pall of death
May gift to all of those that stay
Some glimpse of but another way.
Ideals are part of poet’s dreams
And linger long past use, it seems.
“ Farewell” need not make friendship bend
While death can’t force real love to end.
There’s a single moment that I, at times regret
That’s now become a tarnished fragment of my life
In which I may remember or by chance forget
That somewhere in the past I was another’s wife.
I had another future, knew another dream
With passions I recall seen only in the mist
Like visions in the clouds or ripples in the stream
By chance to recollect some long forgotten kiss.
It lingers in my mind, I cannot tell the why
The sadness of it all, it only comes in waves
It cowers in the dark and will not bid goodbye,
Then follows like a thief into our hidden graves.
Today I looked out o’er my roof and reached into the skies
And wonderment consumed my mind ere I did realize.
“ Why spring is coming soon” I thought, my mind became alive,
I sent a little prayer to God my garden would survive.
Sometimes I think that I react too swiftly and too soon
Yet all the seeds that earth has hid are readying to bloom.
My garden spreads much happiness where calm and peace abide
And if the world’s in deep turmoil, I’m safe and sure inside.
Now soon the bulbs will sprout again and showtime will arrive
And aims that went to sleep last year will somehow be revived.
Last night I shivered in the cold and thought what dark provides
A resting space, a quiet place, a niche where challenge hides.
The healing need for body sore or tired limbs implore
When all of life’s complexities by choice I may ignore.
And as I pass my time this way no creature will I mar
I simply wish to join God’s host that waits upon His star.
While here and there some snow remains reminding me of pain
The dripping ice above the wall vows warmth will come again.
Should I awake this way once more and wonder what I am
I will remember that each day has purpose and a plan
And while my life continues this timeless hope I knew
To be a part and follow in His countless retinue.
Glitter tinsel bright and gold
Shimmer lantern white and old
My father’s face, the frown he wore
The visage seen from long before,
The namesake not at all alike
Comparing man and tiny tyke,
Had hoped to be but some akin
Again that we delight in him,
But not yet so nor ever be
That any, all, should be as he.
What are we that we leave but nought
Of what we’ve been or might have thought?
Seems all that’s left e’er we depart
Are mem’ries dim in aging heart,
A stone to recollect the day
We came and that we passed away.
A pittance small for life’s demand
A wage not worthy of command.
The moral in this wretched thought
That time can neither hide nor fraught,
Is simple in its elegance
A matter of small eloquence
The one impact to which we’re heir
While most unjust and too unfair,
‘Tis seeming most depraved to think,
We stand, we tremble on the brink
We come and go both heart and mind
And never leave a trace behind.
There’s a time in life that needs a resting space,
There’s a space in time that needs a quiet place,
There’s a dream in life that withstands blinding test,
There’s a time in dreams that requires peaceful rest.
The life I knew that now has flown
Into the clutch of bleak unknown
And left me here to query why
All that I loved did bid goodbye
Without a nod or brief farewell
To ease the pain wherein I dwell.
Thus force my heart to comprehend
I can’t control each journey’s end
Although convinced I thought I could
I realized I never would.
Oh, still and peaceful starlit night,
With not a whispered breeze in sight,
Those rustic arms that reach too bare,
Oblique, into the sky now stare,
And seeming wait, for some small gift
Falling from space and earthward drift.
Now stark and graceless awkward tree
Like autumn wind reminding me
Years fall one upon another,
Swiftly reason to discover,
These arms that long to grasp and lift
Embrace the wind cast time adrift.
Thus ageless trees with patience stand
Their vast retinue in command,
Through darkest night or brightest morn,
This faceless wonder earth adorn.
As I ponder those emotions past with feeling
Unto my thoughts a certain wisdom appealing,
It’s the sentiment I recall though not the love
Which fleeting time did somehow wither lust above,
Wherefore have I been, what lucid thoughts have I held
The pressing loss that truth indeed for lack compelled,
The stress did seem unreal and reason query why,
An ending to my passion, for this need imply.
Our lifespan covers a limited time, ought more,
And wanton waste, the seasons of our life deplore,
There are nought other worlds to conquer in our quest
To seek, enjoy, fulfill and leave behind the rest
Hence, can we not to live content with who we are,
For love as such, may curry favor near or far.
Thou mournful moon that shines so distant clear with innocence,
Belies a history that cradled weeds of decadence
Yet glows with ancient tales of lords and kings and mighty things,
An eloquence which speaks through space and time forbearance brings
And moves the mind to dwell on deeds and wisdom circumspect,
Now seeing not believing, this strange power shall wills direct.
Night sister to the sun, the sailor’s tool that bares the soul
Though man may probe this parent to the tides exceeds control.
Thus mighty force indulging man’s wildest inclination
Give credence to a thought that consumes with dedication,
And here one learns through willful ignorance to tine the test,
That orb which swells with deep intensity, observes the rest,
Abounds with manifold myths and legends no time destroys
And in its strength doth twist and blend both countless tears and joys.
In the distance I can spy
Colored sails against the sky
Rainbowed hues so bright and clear
Seeming far, yet very near.
Small triangles in the breeze
Guileless gliding on blue seas.
Some that turn from north to west
Others skimming on the crest,
Masts so tall, they groan and sigh,
I can see their pennants fly.
Brave little craft beckons me
To a life that’s bold and free
In the harbor or adrift
Let me share your journey swift,
Cast upon the water’s wave
To become your fearless slave.
My little men are playing hard
their jumbled shrieks of glee
Will prove an ever constant source
of wonderment to me.
It is not meet that we should know
of all the words they speak
For half the joy of their long day
are secrets they need keep.
And in their world of little men
where adults cannot be
All men are brave and strong and good
in faith, they’re not yet three.
Out of the stillness of the hour
It seems to me that
I can hear the crying
Of the quiet times
That still must be… now dying.
Where laughter once
Full filled the halls with glee
There is but only a dream
Reminding me.
Would that I might achieve
That day of youth’s bright joy
Would that I might retain
For everyday this buoyancy of living
Somehow I’ve outgrown that joy.
Will I relive it ever?
Listening close
I hear the answer echoing
Throughout the silent halls,
It seems to whisper . . . “Never”.
A rocky wall, a crumbling fence
A dried-up brook, a withered vine
A fallen bough held in suspense
That rests upon a clementine,
Unkempt yew side a tumbled post
A grim reminder of neglect
While lamp to spider’s web played host
Its use long past one would suspect.
This sentry by a garden gate
With primrose path and weeds profuse
Makes statement that fair shouts “Ingrate”,
To focus thought on life’s abuse.
We’ve seen the waste misfortune brings
And many styles that pruning need
Applied not just to vernal things
All spreading hopes crave care to breed.
| M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
| 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |
| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 |
| 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
| 29 | 30 | 31 | ||||
Claire V. Bogdanos 
DATELINE: Hoboken, NJ, USA ” ORANGE PEELS ” ( 2013 ) 2013/06/14
Tags: Blog, Clothing, Commentary, Family, Life, Memories, Opinions, Recycling, Writing
Are you familiar with the term ” hand-me-downs ” ? For those of us who are , it epitomizes a way of life that seems to have faded into a form of casual oblivion ! However, with this disappearance we lose a huge chunk of the basic tenets of our American heritage, our raison d’ etre. I’ve been wearing ” castoffs ” for the better part of my life, which is why and how I learned early to boldly ” cut and sew ” or to turn used sweaters into vests and ” bobby sox “. I was taught to knit and crochet by the age of eight and to weave by ten. It was ” disgraceful ” to discard any object that displayed even the faintest signs of ” resurrection “. Recently, I was thrilled to watch a TV program about the recycling of orange peels into feed for cattle ( chock full of vitamins ). Bravo ! When I was first married, my favorite place to shop was called, the ” Salvation Army ” , and every item chosen became a labor of love ! Each eventually made its way into a ” family heirloom ” or a garage sale, thats American ingenuity and entrepreneurship ! I must admit that as my sons entered grade school, I ceased ” making ” their clothing but they did wear ” hand-me-downs ” for an extensive time after. The result of which is that the youngest of four remains to this day a vision of sartorial splendor ! Hmm, I wonder why?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
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