LADYBUGS POEM

 I wrote this poem back in October, '01, while I was hiding out on the North Shore of Superior, trying to deal with brokenheartedness connected to 9/11's life and death. Much of my writing during those days was very serious, very dark. This was one of the only light pieces, and I've enjoyed sharing it with friends and family over these years.  Now I'll share it around and about the world again.  Hope you smile!
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“Grandma” -- eyes wide, he asked -- “weren’t you
a-scared, camping ... in the woods ... in the dark

... alone?”

“Of course not!!” I answered .. and then added,

“well, maybe a little ...

But God was there --

and so were ladybugs.”

“Grandma, were there bears?
BIG, Black or Brown,
and Furry?
Did ya see ‘em?”

“No,” I said, “No bears, no scary stuff at all

[unless you count spiders],

Just squirrels and chipmunks, and, ...

Oh, yes ... I saw ladybugs.”

“They flew into my shirt and my
pants and my hat – and stayed there --
all red-orange and black on
my purple and blue and magenta.

And I brushed them away --
Oh, so gently
[one never wants to hurt a ladybug].”

“Did you have fun on your trip? --
Did you miss us and want us with you?”

“Of course!!” I answered,
wondering how a sometimes Grumpy Gramma
would do with all the munchkins.
“I thought you would like the water and the rocks,
and the trees -- but mostly,
you’d LOVE
the ladybugs.”

 

9/11 ON MY HEART AGAIN!

  Yes, we all remember 9/11.  It was a grabber.  Has continued to be.  I never forget how it hit my heart.  And, the reason I need to share is because I happen to be in northern Minnesota, visiting my long-time friend/"sister", Susan Jones.  Even though I usually am driving up here about 3 times a year, I don't remember being here as the drop-in visitor at 9/11 days except when it officially occurred.

In 2001, I had arrived a day or so earlier.  Planned to leave for home on Friday, 9/14.  On 9/11 about 8 AM, my husband called and told Susan to turn on her TV.  He told her to call for me to get in her room.  He hung up quickly.  He was working at the Offutt AFB in the Omaha area, and, shortly after he called, almost all of the workers and officers/base members were being sent out.  Not too long later, President Bush was brought into that Base and put in a very safe underground location.

I learned all of that, heard all of that, as Dave called again, later that day.

Watching the TV, from this horrific event, my heart was broken and I was filled with depression.

During the next days, being in an extremely rural area, other than TV, we didn't see or hear much.

On Friday at noon I went to the small town nearby.  I had been told that the Lutheran church was having a prayer and focusing-on-the-Lord time.  It was a real heart-toucher.

When I returned to Susan's, I began to pack my clothes and load my car.  I left in the late afternoon.  The drive usually takes about 9 hours, so I'd be home by Saturday, 2 AM.

Driving home was one of the most heart-breaking, heart-aching times.  At first, just driving was no big deal. It is nearly 100 miles on the side roads to the Interstate.  And then, arriving on the Interstate -- I-29 -- about 40 miles north of Fargo, ND, my present-day world changed.

What I saw over and over again, were signs by the highway.  The ones that grabbed me the most were connected to highway repairing companies.  One their trucks, parked on the side, had large national flags and large words of "God Bless America" with lots of lights aimed to focus on them.

Seeing those over and over for 450 miles, getting home was a huge heart-acher.  The fact that Dave was at the Base on a regular time and saw and heard much, and he shared the information, it was also poured into me, shortly after I reached home.  

So, today, I am in the same house, with the same person, seeing the same trees, same birds, and, considering what others would be saying, seeing, or doing in our nation, I rarely even see or hear.

Yes, it is different now that all these years have reacted.  But I'm thinking of it today strongly, because I'm here.

I won't be going home until the 19th, though.  If it was the 14th again, I think my heart would be grabbed again... just 

by memory.

HE KNOWS MY HEART! THAT'S A BLESSING!

DEPRESSION WAS SIGNIFICANT IN RESPONSE 

TO THE TERRORISM THAT HIT OUR NATION.

MY LORD'S SPIRITUAL HEALING WAS

ALSO SIGNIFICANT.

I WENT HOME IN PEACE.

BILL FROM GRAND MARAIS

It began on 9/11.  I told you the story recently about how I began to have a serious depression a couple weeks after that horrific event. I was sent up there to seek God's kindness that would break my depression and turn me to joy. While there I was "camping" in our van at Tettegouche State Park.  I drove up to Grand Marais, about 40 miles further north.  While entering the town, I stopped at a store that was a real eye-grabber.  It was called Blue Moose and had a funny entrance.  When I went into the shop, the lady in charge, named Mary Beth, was really nice, and, in a while, I discovered that she was the owner, not just the worker.  While there, I saw cards by Jackie Kotlarek, and bought a few.  Loved her cards, and truly hoped to meet her sometime, since it was obvious she was in Duluth. [And the next time I was

up, with Dave, I called her from her card, drove up to her house, and we loved her work.  Dave bought an oil paint based on the Lake Superior with waves and rocks.  THAT was the beginning; we've bought paintings, cards, and other bits and pieces from her over this past 11 years.  We have become very good friends. And met and enjoyed her husband.]

I spent a nice time going up and down the whole area between Duluth and Grand Marais.  Then I went home.

The next year, Dave and I went up together.  We went to

Grand Marais along the way.  I took him to the Blue Moose, because I'd really liked the shop.  We went.  Mary Beth was not there, but a man was.  We talked.  His name was Bill, he was a football coach, a ski trainer, and we really liked him.  When Mary Beth came to the shop when we were there, we found out that he was her husband.  We had so much fun together and we went to dinner together.  They took us to a really fun place up in the hills. 

That was the beginning.

Every year when we hit the North Shore, we hit Grand Marais and Blue Moose.  The 4 of us always went to dinner and we went to their Baptist church, met the pastor and his wife and hung out with them, too. Bill played during worship on a piano, and eventually Dave played piano also.  This went on for 2 or 3 years, and we were up more often or staying longer.

Then seriosity hit us.  Mary Beth came down with cancer.  We did get together when we could, and she died about a year later.

Bill ended up married in Florida when staying with his dad who was dying.  People from the church were working at the shop.  It was doing well.

We saw Bill a couple times when we happened to be there at the same time.  He would spend the summer and early fall up there to work in the shop, keep track of things, worship at church.  He was a blessing to many.  Then we didn't see him for 3 years, because we went up in the Thanksgiving stretch of time and he was in Florida with his dear wife.  We missed him very much, but couldn't connect.  OH, and he had cancer, too, and eventually was healed. But his legs, feet, arms, and memory are all challenging.  He's begun to play guitar now ... began when he was about 64, and will be 67 this month ... and does well, but struggles.

This time when we went up there to check it out, the shop had no workers, and we were wandering around a bit, and suddenly Bill walked in.  Talk about rejoicing!  He

remembered our names, he was so happy to see us, he took us to the the other shop area and played the guitar for Dave, and sang some great, fun songs.  It was a real treat. 

When we stopped there on Wednesday morning so I could drop off a card, assuming he wouldn't be there that early, he popped into the yard.  And, after talking for a little while, he said he'd like us to go to breakfast with him.  Now, he'd already eaten, but wanted us at a particular restaurant.  So, we went.  He had coffee.  WE ate Swedish pancakes [as he suggested] with strawberries and whipped cream, bacon, and juice.  And when the bill arrived, he grabbed it.  So, he truly blessed us.

We left with hugs, kissing cheeks, planning to email, call, keep in touch.  Next year when we go to the North Shore again, we plan the timing will be around the time of our anniversary towards the end of September, so we can be with 

Blue Moose with him last Tuesday.

 Bill.

What. a. treat!






  

9/11 AND" SHIRLEY"

Depression had hit me over this whole national/world-wide event, and I needed to "run away from home."  To head out to the NW and be on the Oregon coast, resting, sounded like a really good idea.  BUT, financially and "timely", it wasn't gonna work out.  Dave and I decided I could go to the North Shore of Lake Superior, about 600 miles, drive the van so I could find a campground and sleep in it, and stay as long as needed.  I reached there at October 1, and I was only there for four days. It truly became a spiritual healing time.  One of the many blessings was that Dave and I could talk every evening at the Tettagouche St. Pk. building.  That kept me moving along, heart-filled.

I wrote stories, poems, historical issues.  I cried, I prayed, I laughed. And I met some wonderful people, who I introduced to Dave during our next visit up there, the next summer, and they are still involved with us. Dear ones.

On Wednesday evening, October 3, I attended a Baptist Church a few miles from the park.  In the church basement, about twenty people sat around tables, singing, praying, sharing needs.  I felt comfortable and accepted -- they must often have “drop-ins” from the nearby campgrounds.  A lady across the table invited me to come to lunch on Thursday.  Since I intended to leave on Friday morning and had a free day ahead of me, I accepted.

Well, when I woke up Thursday morning, I knew I was released to go home, and, since it’s that 600-mile trip, I would reasonably have left early in the day.  I put the trip home off until after lunch.  That morning I bought a muffin and hot

chocolate and carried it to a rocky outcropping and sat in the sun and reveled in the kindness and closeness of God.  The photo shows my foot -- a visual reminder that whatever the circumstances there are constant events in life that can "hit" us, and can be rocks, water, or breaking waves.  And no matter what is happening, we can worship and trust the Lord.

During lunch, I had a very sweet time of fellowship with Prue, who I had met at the church.  This was a gift, a neat cap to my personal retreat. (And her chocolate chip cookies are about the best I’ve ever had. Do you think those who give a cookie to a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward?  Sure gave MY spirits a boost and made the trip home sweeter.)

This is one of my funniest poems.  Hope you enjoy it.  I sent it to her some weeks later, and she laughed and laughed.  THAT was a blessing.

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    SHIRLEY

Not really Shirley, but similar and good example.

During lunch
    with a new-found friend,
Her pet swirling around our feet,
She kept commanding,

 "Shirley, stay down!" or

 "Shirley, off the chair!"

And I wondered, and pondered,
    and thought --
        but didn't ask --
"Why would anyone name a dog 'Shirley' ?"
[I wasn't even sure whether 

it was male or female --
    must I confess such ignorance?]
But still -- Shirley?!

As I was leaving,
    settling into my car,
She suddenly said,
    "I bet you've been wondering
        why I call my dog Shirley.
It reminds me that 

'Surely goodness and mercy 

will follow me'."
And she trailed into a laugh ..

 which I joined.
[a most pleasant way to say goodbye].

Now forever,
    with the image of a middle-sized,
        black and white, shaggy dog
 Superimposed --
    Psalm 23, Verse 6 will never be the same.

MY ROCKY DAY THEN... AND HEART-ROCKY DAY NOW

I wrote this after the 9/11 episode.  When a few weeks later I was filled with depression, Dave sent me to he North Shore of Superior so I could seek heart-healing.  I wrote a lot while there, some serious, some historical, some humorous.  Two of the poems were funny.  This is one of them.  And this is truly "me". 

 

I have many-hundred rocks in my not-large yard.  From everyplace in the country or around the world where I've visited or lived.   And I never stop smiling at, or grabbing, rocks.  In fact, I have a few in my car this time from Wyoming on the way here to the NW.  Expect to grab some more here, especially from the Oregon coast, because I don't anticipate ever returning.  

 

 Go home without rocks?  I don't think it's possible to NOT

add beauty to my house and yard and heart.

 

Today I feel very serious about a lot that has happened. Family and social issues.  Rejoicing and heartbroken.  Extremely back and forth. 

Decided to share this with you, because it's filled

with truth and joy and shows my funny side. 

Most people don't see that side of me often enough!

 

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THE ROCKS

Tettagouche State Park, Minnesota

Scripture says, “the rocks ... cry out” --

(My out-of-context translation)

And they did.

[They really did!]

 

I planned to not take some home.

(That is what I planned!)

 

But they would have none of it.

 

They shouted to me

to rescue them -- take them away --

away from battering waves and

freezing blasts of wind --

 

Shouted with colors

and sparkles

and barnacle-patterned mouths.

 

And I !!stopped!! --

 just for a moment --just for a short glance.

 

And they grabbed me --

my heart, my soul, my arm --

and forced me to pick them up --

until they over-flowed,

first hand-- and then pocket,

and finally made a temporary lodging

pouched in my over-sized sweatshirt.

 

[Taking me to the shore and saying “no rocks” --is akin to taking a

three-year-old

to a penny-candy store and saying,“We’re only looking.”]

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For some reason the spaces, colors, division, isn't occurring in reality.  Sorry.

 

DAVE

My husband is on my heart more and more, because he is so helpful and kind to me.  When I fell early yesterday morning and hit the floor, hurt and screaming, he immediately rushed through the house to help me any possible way. He's a truly caring and loving man.

I am sure I posted this poem before, but it touched me again today.

Originally, I wrote it during the first week of October, 2001, when I was on a depression stage of life after 9/11 and camping at the North Shore to come to God's emotional healing, which, miraculously, did occur. 

So sharing it with you, again.

======================

  "You hug your husband, and

Tell him you appreciate him,"

Steve, the wise one, said.

I did -- and I do.

"I'm sending you my representative,"

Abba said to me,

Those years ago.

And in the season of robins and lilacs,

He bounced through my door --

One of a group.

For some reason, I noticed.

And weeks later, we noticed --

And then we got married.

[Just about that fast -- 

and that shocking --

and scary!!]

[Because the world would never have put us together,

but Abba did.]

He was not who I expected --

I was a surprise to him.

[I still am sometimes, I think.]

But if I know nothing else in this life

to be true,

I know my Abba sent His representative.

==============

A bit of extra info.  The "Steve" is my son, and, as I was preparing to head 600 miles away from home to deal with fear and depression, he wanted me to consider Dave's heartache when I would be gone.  My son was realistic.  Dave, however, knew this was a trip God was sending me on, so he wasn't breaking down or afraid.  He knew I needed healing and that that location would be a good one for it. 

While up there without him, talking to him once a day on a public phone in the Tettagouche Camp center, he continued to encourage me.

This poem poured into my heart as a result.

It truly is my Dave.

9/11 ... THE CHILDREN...

    
10,000 ...

    children,

        lost one or both parents at one time and place.

10,000 ...
   
    children

      saw, or will see, played or replayed,

10,000 ...

    times,

        the time and place their parents died.

How many will hear
    the commentators –
        voices filled with horror --
               speak of the
   “scores leaping/falling/flying to their deaths" --
                      and wonder --
                              was “that” mine?

How many nightmares are ahead for those children --
         and the many thousands of others --
             who no longer are innocents?

We can no longer protect our children --
    could we ever? – or was that, too, an illusion? --
         from the horrible realities of life. 

 Innocence was blown away --
              collapsed --
                     with the “icon” in New York.

And now we wait
            -- who will win? 
                            Can anyone win?

Terrorists don’t care;
    willing to lose all 
-- their lives, countrymen, women, children --
        chattel and chaff to a war
             won only in heaven.

Yes,
     the ones who know God,
        who have trusted Jesus --
                   are in His presence.

Maybe,
     -- we can hope and pray --
        many had a moment
               to seek and hear
                and speak truth 
              in those last minutes,
                      or seconds.
           No “fox hole atheists”. 

Maybe,
     God’s grace covered the destruction --
         like a feather curtain, a mist --
    and provided just that moment of reality --
         before the end --

         For the Beginning.

The terrorists? 
       Feel sorriest for them.
                   They were sold up the river,
                                     sold a bill of goods,
                  hoodwinked by the Master Deceiver --
                     and promised a piece of Paradise
                        if they’d destroy the Infidels.

And,
     in the same instant they destroyed all those lives,
                    they discovered the truth.

      Jesus said to the thief, 
           “Today you will be with me in Paradise;

     The Counterfeiter said,
           “Today you will be with me” --
                and neglected to tell them
                    how quickly their 
                          Paradise
                     would become
                           hell.
     ===========================================
Depression had hit me over this whole national/world-wide event, and I needed to "run away from home."  Dave and I decided I could go to the North Shore of Lake Superior, drive the van so I could sleep in it, find a campground, and stay as long as needed.  I reached there at October 1, and I was only there for four days. It truly became a spiritual healing time.

I've posted a number of my poems, etc., before, but never one of the very intense and filled-with-fright poems/proses.  Decided this should be added today  -- I couldn't yesterday b/c of the Bhutanese baby's birth and my exhaustion.

Transferring it from my North Shore book, I lost most of the line set-up I had... had to adjust.  Sorry if it's not organized, but I tried.

LADYBUGS

Life was so serious today.  For instance, at noon I was called to the refugee complex up the street to help the management deal with piles and piles of roaches and filthy carpets in one apartment, not exactly my favorite thing to do.  I was asked to help teach these particular people how to clean, which I may do, and means that the bathroom, fridge, and stove, and cupboards in this particular apartment could be a real challenge. Don't know when/if this cleaning teaching will be officially dropped in my lap, but I'll help if I can.  [I could be tearing my clothes off on our front porch before I let myself in my house then, but...]  However, between that and a couple other smaller situations, I'm tired today of seriosity.

Because of this intensity, buried on my heart, I decided to post a poem I wrote in October, '01, which is funny and chuckly.    At the time I wrote it, I was hiding out on the North Shore of Superior, trying to deal with brokenheartedness connected to 9/11's life and death. Much of my writing during those days was very serious, very dark. This was one of the only light pieces, and I've enjoyed sharing it with friends and family ever since...even did it at church at a talent show once and made lots of people laugh.  That was a good thing.
    ===============================================

                                     LADYBUG

“Grandma” -- eyes wide, he asked -- 

“weren’t you a-scared, camping ... 

in the woods ... 

in the dark

... alone?”

“Of course not!!” I answered

 .. and then added,

“well, maybe a little ...

But God was there --

and so were ladybugs.”

“Grandma, were there bears?
BIG, Black or Brown,
and Furry?
Did ya see ‘em?”

“No,” I said, “No bears, no scary stuff at all

[unless you count spiders],

Just squirrels and chipmunks, and, ...

Oh, yes ... I saw ladybugs.”

“They flew into my shirt and my
pants and my hat – and stayed there --
all red-orange and black on
my purple and blue and magenta.

And I brushed them away --
Oh, so gently
[one never wants to hurt a ladybug].”

“Did you have fun on your trip? --
Did you miss us and want us with you?”

“Of course!!” I answered,
wondering how a sometimes 

Grumpy Gramma
would do with all the munchkins.
“I thought you would like the water and the rocks,
and the trees -- but mostly,
you’d LOVE
the ladybugs.”