The picture that now greets our eyes
Perhaps too soon will don disguise
To hide away its plan perverse,
Destroy our dreams or even worse.
The time has come there’s no delay
To take a stand or kneel and pray
To beg our God He take command
Ere we are slaves in our own land !
Open the door and come on in
God awaits all, forgiving sin
That day is coming very fast
Our problems have become so vast.
Where shall the hordes of fleeing go
To reach God’s arms before the woe
Keep calm and do not lose your place
He will remember every face !
There is no way I’ll ever see
The budding days of infancy
Or travel in the path of ways
That haunted all my childhood days.
My youth was spiced with sacrifice
The age was cruel, not often nice
Its road was long I met defeat
But managed to land on my feet !
Alone that journey was too hard
That’s when I turned my face to God
He held my hand all through the years
He owns my life both smiles and tears,
I’ve no regrets left to remain
If I don’t pass this way again !
There was a knocking at my door
I thought I’d heard that sound before
One doesn’t knock at doors today
We’ve progressed to another way.
In times as these it’s safety first
Our peaceful days have been dispersed
I peered into the peep-hole there
And all I saw was empty air.
How strange I thought, what could it be
Who was it came to visit me ?
The intercom said not a word
The entry bell I hadn’t heard
The lift announces every floor
There is a chime beside each door.
At last I thought I’d take a chance,
I’ll open up to get a glance
And there before my very eyes
Was tiny Andrew, my surprise,
How pleased was I to say hello
Much sadder still to see him go !
EXCUSE me, in the past weeks I have had another one of my inconvenient strokes, 28 or 29, I can’t remember ! So I followed my routine, packing my trusty bible and necessities in a small bag as I checked into the ER of the Hoboken University Medical Center on Third Street where I am a frequent flyer since 1978. I’ve had 2 major strokes, 3 DVT’s, and sundry TIA’s which help explain both my wheelchair and passion for prayer ! My experience at this former Franciscan Facility has managed to be a bright spot in an otherwise frightening environ for many years. However I really do miss the old nuns who were an integral part of the staff since the hospital’s inception in 1863. (Civil War). Now that the last of the nuns, Sister Theresa, has been permanently transferred to the Motherhouse Retirement Home out of state, an era has come to an end ! She was a longtime acquaintance, sorely missed, who referred to me as Phil Casella’s friend ( he being a 3rd order Franciscan )! I’ve been okay with that recommendation ! We’ve been friends for almost 40 years, and known to most as Mrs. B. since my family and I fed Hoboken for mega years and that included clergy, doctors, police, fire fighters, Maxwell House, politicians, Stevens Institute, Tetley Tea, Hostess Cake, Continental Can to mention a very few ! Who remembers historic HOBOKEN House ? The staff at Hoboken Hospital is a true Americana mix, Hispanic, Indian, Filipino, Sihk, Czech, Russian, Korean, Asian, Irish, Greek, Italian, Black to name a few ! First time I needed St. Mary was spring 1957 when my son Matthew suffered severe skull fracture, successfully treated by my hero the late Dr. Sam Critedes ! This is a very busy place with 1st floor heroes Geraldine, Alba and Barry, et al, knowledgeable and caring. The ER has both Ria, Maria, Jason and scads of others deserving kudos for their attention and concern. I am fond of the staff on the 4th floor ( monitors only ) HaHa ! Where Charlotte, Amos, Minnie, Pattie, Diana, Paolo hold sway ! Mustn’t forget dietitians, kitchen staff and others who cook once-over-easy to die for ! Well I’m home now recuperating and forever grateful to all of those great professionals ! Thanks a lot ! Sincerely, Claire B.
The only bears I’ve ever seen
Are in the zoo or on the screen
I’d like to think I’ll never meet
A single one out on the street !
Most bears are wild and roam about
They are quite large with scary snout
But if we met I’d stay quite calm
And slowly turn away from harm,
I’d try to walk with a loud sound
Or crunchy step upon the ground
Talking and praying as I flee
Hoping that he’s as scared as me !
My life is like a slippery hill
Sometimes I fall or take a spill
And there are times I cannot see
A feckless bump in front of me.
My eyesight dims, my courage fails
And all my strength in shadows, pales
I know I should be better at
This game of playing mouse and cat.
I find such things a childish chase
My life has need of richer pace,
Dark monsters hurry, fast away
I have no time for games today !
The storms of life ride on the winds and round again
While noses pressed upon the frosted window pane
As closely as one can should sight the lights below
Of cars that creep and crawl and skid in midnight snow.
The safety and the eloquence of night time charm
Encouraged to protect us from intrinsic harm
Far wiser to outwait the storm and greet its end
Than try to force a circumstance and not unbend !
The ships in harbor seem absurd
There waiting on the watchmen’s word
To raise life’s sail on swollen waves
And seek escape from salty graves !
Oh blessed Lord, please hold my hand
As I traverse this barren land
The peace I need no longer here
Replaced by doubt and dread and fear
I know not what my heart will do
I won’t feel safe till I’m with You !
I do not wish to live in fear
I cannot see the sense
I’d will the terror disappear
Such thoughts are too intense.
I do believe God would agree
I’ll speak for the defense
His love will keep us safe and free
We are His innocents.
In this world full of people I’m thinking perhaps
The intelligent move to avoid all the traps
And nestle away in some contented disguise
Might be the direction to foil any reprise.
I’m afraid we’re remiss in our casual ways
And are earning the harvest of our reckless days
It’s a cumbersome load that we carry too fast
T’would be better to learn from mistakes of the past.
Here I am so full of experiences and stories that I never know where to begin but I think today I will tell you about canaries, the yellow kind! When I was a girl central heating only existed in the homes of the well- off and then not always! Fireplaces, pot bellied stoves, Ben Franklin heaters, and black iron stoves were alive and in use! Windows were large with thick glass and solid wooden frames and in the winter were heavily draped and curtained to keep the cold out and the heat in. Often however results of this effort were dangerous invisible fumes called carbon monoxide which killed whole families in their sleep throughout the north. In the early and mid 1900’s people kept birds in cages, canaries always sang, messy as blazes, but always chirping away! During one of the frequent mini-depressions, my Nana decided to raise birds in the sunroom of her house to supplement their income. My mother was designated chief bird cage cleaner and birdseed scraper upper, seeds took root quickly in the cracks between the floorboards. This was her after school job daily! I wonder if this responsibility had anything to do with her being married at 15? My grandmother had a burgeoning business due to the cardboard sign displayed in the window, “BIRDS FOR SALE” “25 cents each”. The point being, if you awakened to no chirping you were in trouble, remember no smoke alerts of any sort existed! Chances were if your canary died so did you! And my mom frequently remarked that she was “especially” affected by her schoolgirl chore, her words precisely, “I hate those damned canaries!” So we had guppies, dogs, cats, never birds! Sincerely, Claire B.
Do you recall those summer days that used to be
When all we did was play beside the sand and sea,
No thought or care to question our security
And whether freedom’s virtues were no longer free,
What’s caused all this, I do not know or cannot see
Who is it now that schemes to curb our liberty?
The dark of night envelopes me in clouds of pain I
cannot bear
Pain that’s like an old companion whose ugly fashion
I won’t wear
Or bow beneath its will to tame me or yoke me
in its wide scope
I’m not a hostage in its grasp who’s doomed
to suffer without hope
I’ll fight the way that God has shown
with prayers of faith that my lips sing
While angel arms save and guard me
and carry me upon their wing.
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Claire V. Bogdanos 