Tag: Gratitude

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Storied Recipes

One of Dad’s favorite books was Pat Conroy’s cookbook. I think the reason he liked it so much was that as a teller of stories, Dad found a story about food with every recipe Pat Conroy shared. This was no ordinary cookbook – – it was food for the mind and food for the body. Food with history. Food with heritage. Food to delight the senses and the curiosity. Stories were the appetizer and carried conversation into the main meal.

I thought of our family a lot over the weekend – especially as I was at BJ Reece Cider Company in Ellijay, sampling the ciders and tasted one that was perfectly flavored with mulling spices. I said to my husband, “I like this one, but only for October and November – not June or July.” At first, he’d wondered what I meant. After tasting it, he licked his lips and said, “Ah, yes. I see what you mean.” This cider was called Apple Pie and was described as the perfect sipping cider for sweater weather. They weren’t kidding.

One sip of this cider brought memories of times we gathered at Dad’s sister’s house for Thanksgiving. Mom and Aunt Ann would make us Instant Russian Tea so the cousins could all sip on something while the adults had their own special drinks that made them laugh loudly. Back in the 1970s when Tang Breakfast Drink was all the rage, Mom and Aunt Ann would make a pot of this tea and send all the cousins down to the basement to play board games on the big table while the men gathered around the television for football and the women camped out in the kitchen catching up.

Here is the recipe from my Aunt Ann Downing for Instant Russian Tea.

2 c. Tang

2 c. sugar

1/2 c. instant tea

2 pkgs. lemon Kool-Aid, unsweetened

1 t. cinnamon

1 t. ground cloves

1 t. allspice

Mix and store in air-tight container, and use 2 heaping tsp. per cup, or to taste.

Instant Russian Tea

we celebrated kid-style

clinked cups with cousins

Now that both Mom and Dad are gone, only the memories remain. I’m thankful for those ~ they are what will carry us forward to sustain us. I smiled and closed my eyes for a moment, remembering just a week ago when the cousins all came for Dad’s Celebration of Life. We clinked wine glasses this time, and we are grateful that we are still clinking.

Our parents taught us well.

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Tell Me You’re a Tree Hugger Without Telling Me You’re a Tree Hugger

for 18 years there have been no curtains

hanging in my house ~ I was against it

there have been no blinds, no shades –

just sheers to diffuse the sunlight

streaming in

but only in a few windows

the trees that once filtered it

have all been stripped from the land

more violently than a thief

ripping the pearls off a debutante

but today the house ~ once bright~

is dark and dim to keep the cool

not the oven it became

when the last trees fell

and I succumbed to curtains

but now depression

I fear

is setting in

what is life if not living among the trees?

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One Little Hummer Pantoum – and Why I Love Birdwatching

I came to love birdwatching when, as a child, my mother pointed out every bird and called it by name. Wherever we were, she’d point to cardinals, chickadees, bluebirds, and tell us about them. On drives from our home to visit our grandparents, Mom spotted every hawk and announced it – Cooper’s Hawk, Red-Tailed Hawk, Red-Shouldered Hawk, and so on. She knew them all. My mom’s mother was known for her landscaped yard with flowers and shrubs of many kinds – – along with her bird feeders and bird baths. There was never any doubt that I’d take their legacy of their deep love of birds into future generations.

It’s also why I feel their presence most closely where birds are concerned. And it’s why sometimes I wonder if birds are angels, of a sort. It’s why my heart has been so heavy since they clear cut all the trees on our farm, save for a few hardwoods – after putting out specific seeds to attract specific birds over the years and then celebrating when they showed up. We will replant, but tall trees are years away.

I doubled down on my hummingbird feeders for that reason, and was delighted to see that my favorite hummingbird from last summer has returned. I cried when she left last year, lingering longer than all the rest, and I’d know her anywhere. She’s the only one who gives thanks for her food, looking me straight in the eye with sincerity. She’s back.

one little hummer

hovers close, looks me in the eye

expressing thanks for her sweet nectar

a fighter jet on gratitude pause

hovers close, looks me in the eye

just as she did last summer

a fighter jet on gratitude pause

this ruby-throated hummer

just as she did last summer

she was the last to fly south

this ruby-throated hummer

turning my tears of grief to joy

she was the last to fly south

expressing thanks for her sweet nectar

turning my tears of grief to joy

one little hummer

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First The Landscape Changed

first the landscape changed ~

two months ago they clear cut this land

harvested the pine trees

I cried for the trees,

for the birds

I’d loved to watch from the front porch

for their nests

for their eggs

for their fledglings

a few remained in the hardwoods,

the usual cast of characters~

cardinals, wrens, finches, pine warblers

my favorite wood thrushes

but then Dad died

and the world changed

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June Open Write Day 3 of 3 with Leilya Pitre

Leilya Pitre of Louisiana is our host today for the last day of the June Open Write. You can read her full prompt here. She inspires us to write poems about small acts of kindness. If you’ve ever curated a music playlist on a theme, you know there is excitement in the discovery of related verse – it’s an addictive cognitive hobby. Leilya has done that – curated a group of poems on a theme – and offers several model poems to use as inspiration. She shares these below:

She explains the process and urges us to write an etheree or nonet as our poetry form.

  1. Choose a small action or quality that you believe helps make someone a decent human being or good citizen. It may be kindness, honesty, fairness, patience, curiosity, listening, speaking up, sharing, helping, apologizing, forgiving, welcoming, learning, planting, voting, mending, repairing, thanking…
  2. Brainstorm what this word or act looks like in daily life. How does it show up? Who taught it to you? How do you practice or witness it?
  3. Write a poem celebrating or exploring this quality or act.
  • Nonet → 9 lines; starts with 9 syllables, decreasing by one each line.
  • Etheree → 10 lines; starts with 1 syllable, increasing by one each line.

A Gift of Dill Pickle Chip

I slide my dill pickle to the side

a rippled chip, algae-hued green

floppy, salty, puckery

knowing he’s eyeing it,

never having to

ask for this chip

he knows I’ll

offer

it

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June Open Write Day 2 of 3 with Tammi Belko

Tammi Belko of Ohio is our host today for the second day of the June Open Write, inspiring us to write poems about our normalcy. You can read her full prompt here.

Tammi explains the process:

1. Use the word “normal” or another word of your choice.
2. Brainstorm examples or characteristics of that word as they relate to your life or the world around you past or present.

3. Write a poem that defines your chosen word. Your poem may take any form.

Teaching Ideas:

  • Choose nuanced vocabulary words for students to incorporate into their poems.
  • Have students select nuanced words to describe a character from a novel studied in class and use the word in their poem.

Kim’s Normal Poem

the day normal changed

normal changed on Friday the 13th

the way things do

when Dad drew his last breath

my brother and I

had gone home

for showers and sleep

planning to return

shortly

but shortly came sooner

than we’d thought

and the Hospice nurse

called to tell us

we could come spend time

with him before

she called the funeral home

we walked in to find him

under a scripture-embroidered

bright yellow blanket

wearing his Georgia Bulldogs cap

as if he were taking a nap

right before the game

at perfect peace

with the world

as we exchanged

a knowing look:

it would only be normal

for our quirky dad to

wear his velvet-sleeved

doctoral robe

and ball cap straight

through the pearly gates

***

he brought tears

and laughter as folks

realized: this is so Felix!

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June Open Write Day 1 of 3 with Leilya Pitre of Louisiana

Our host today for the first day of the June Open Write is Leilya Pitre of Louisiana. She inspires us to write dictionary poems. You can write read her full prompt here.

She outlines this process for writing a dictionary poem:

Choose a word that may describe you, and then then write your poem as if it were a dictionary entry from your life. Include some or all of the following parts:

  • Etymology: Where did this word enter your life? Who gave it to you? When did it start to matter?
  • Definition: What does this word really mean to you now?
  • Synonyms/Antonyms: What words shadow it? What words have you replaced it with?
  • Misuses: When was the word used unfairly or wrongly?
  • Example Sentence: Include a personal memory or story that shows this word in action—your version of how it lived in your world.

What word have you carried? Write your own life-definition poem. You may follow this format closely or bend it to suit you. You may completely disregard the prompt and/or the instructions and write whatever brings you joy today.

Before Dad died, he kept urging us to tap into the serendipitous steering currents of the spirit. He loved words and their sounds and meanings. I’m choosing the word serendipitous today as my dictionary word.

serendipitous (adj.) – a favorite word of Felix Haynes; he referred to the serendipitous steering currents of the spirit – it began mattering in the days leading up to his death when he urged us to watch for things to happen – to unfold in unexpected and divinely inspired ways.

definition – the divineness of the hand that parts waters, lights stars, and moves mountains like in Romans 8:28, making a way where there seems to be no way.

synonym – beneficial

antonym – unfortunate

misuses – planned, controlled, humanly intentional

sentence: Don’t be surprised when the serendipitous steering currents of the spirit sweep in and cause miracles to happen.

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Visitation Day

Today would have been my parents’ 61st wedding anniversary, but instead we’ll be having a visitation for Dad on the eve of his funeral. Mom has been gone for 10 years, and Dad just wasn’t the same without her. She was the love of his life and the only person who has ever been able to help him manage in a way that made any sense. Small snippets of the past three weeks come rushing back, not as a movie in my head but as a bunch of jagged-edged memories without their proper place on a timeline.

I don’t even know what day it is, which way is up or down, or whether I’m hungry or cold. I’ve lost all sense of the hours, whether I’m up past my bedtime or sleeping at all. My clothes may match – or not. It’s that headspace without a comfort zone, where everything feels numb and you hold on, hoping your facial expressions are all performed appropriately at the right times when you’re among people. The feeling is gone. The grief has set in.

this is where I am:

in the midst of chaos, the

corner of nowhere

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Grief Numbness Haiku

Things are starting to hit home, ahead of the funeral on Saturday. Today was a partial reset, in between the day of Dad’s death and the day of the funeral. I feel like I’m just going through the motions on auto-pilot, and I remember this feeling after my mother died. There have been moments I’ve wanted to call and check on him. Then I realize – – I can’t do that anymore.

Today, my brother took Kona, Dad’s dog, to the funeral home to “explain things.” Kona checked him and sat down on his chest with the saddest look of understanding. We wanted her to know that he did not abandon her – – that he died loving her. She has a lovely new family now that will continue to take her to the dog park where she knows the dogs and people there – even though she will always look for the one who will not be returning. We gave her the unlaundered blanket, a gift from Hospice workers, that covered him on his ride from Hospice to the funeral home, and we pray it holds his scent for the rest of her days.

It’s all hitting so hard right now. I wasn’t expecting the numbness quite in this way. There will be some connecting with others who have lost fathers in the coming days. For today, I simply put one foot in front of the other and take breaths, pour coffee, and fold laundry. This is what I can do, and it brings a sense of accomplishment.

grief numbness sets in

after losing my father

is this happening???

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Thursday the 12th: Leading up to Friday the 13th

The last person to see our father alive who knew him was Nick Doster.

My brother Ken and I had been trying to keep vigil next to Dad’s bedside so that he didn’t die alone in a room, but the hospice nurse urged us to go take showers and grab an hour or so of sleep when we’d become too exhausted. Some patients look for those moments to die alone, preferring not to have loved ones near in their final moments, she’d assured us. We knew the time was close, too, because just that afternoon Dad had begun the conversations with the others not of this world, but with whom he was having undeterminable conversations and for whom he was reaching.

Nick Doster and Dad had traveled to Wrigley Field in Chicago to see the Cubs play several years back, and shared a deep love of all things sports. So it was no surprise that when Nick showed up in the remaining hours of Dad’s life with a red Georgia Bulldogs hat, Dad found strength for an appreciative smile.

Imagine our bittersweet sadness when the call came at 4 a.m. that Dad had passed. We felt the grief of the loss and the joy of the release of all pain and suffering from this earthly realm into the Heaven he preached about all his life. Now. Imagine us walking into that Hospice room to spend time prior to the funeral home coming for the body.

Take all the time you need, the hospice nurse offered.

Imagine us opening that wide door one last time and looking at the bed, only to see a bright yellow blanket embroidered with Psalm 119:76 in black stitching on one corner covering Dad’s body – the sunshine of Heaven. And imagine a face at total peace, no wires or tubes protruding, no oxygen machine droning, the red hat still on his head against the stark white of the pillow.

My brother and I agreed – – he wears the hat to Heaven. We know it will be the perfect complement to his black doctoral robe with the velvet on the sleeves and the red piping. Above all, we know it will bring smiles to those who will come for visitation to see that Dad, ever the champion of going as far as one can go with education and cheering as strong as one can cheer for the Georgia Bulldogs, can still cause a stirring of hearts.

Imagine the grief

Imagine the laughter

Imagine the joy