Sunday, June 2, 2019

Inspired by 37 Paddington and Ellamae Simmons

And listening,
I walk.
Looking at everything.
Rarely understanding anything.

Hey world:
You are a puzzle.
With no piece in place.
Every day I bring my own puzzle piece
With me
As I walk
As I wait

As I work with friends on a project that will culminate in two exhibits of selected tapestries from one of our friends who wove for 50 years before losing her ability to weave due to cognitive difficulties, the time I usually have for blogging is limited.  Thank you to everyone who responded to my post connected to this year's Memorial Day.  I felt so alone in the year the man I loved served as a helicopter mechanic in Vietnam and felt alone for nearly 20 years after the war ended.  I spent as much time as I could at the ocean -- one place where I did not feel alone.  This year, in large part because of your comments, I know fully that I am not alone, no matter where I am.  You are never far from my thoughts.  I am grateful to belong to this far-flung community of kindred spirits.

A friend who is staying in Laguna Beach, California, with her husband this week emailed me this ocean scene.  It may take several clicks before the video appears:

P.S.  Rosemarie -- Our public library secured a copy of Overcome for me.  I am just a few chapters into the book. The long and eventful life of Ellamae Simmons is an inspiration.  Thank you for making it possible for her story to be told.


Sabine said...

And listening"

Indeed, thank you for reminding me. You are never far from my thoughts.

37paddington said...

Am, I love the poem that I see from your link you wrote more than fifty years ago! And the quilt project sounds very special. I am honored to know you are getting acquainted with Ellamae. She was an extraordinary soul. Thank you for appreciating her.

Anonymous said...

I love the poem again! I love being reminded of it. The art with it is so beautiful.

Sackerson said...

I'm sorry I don't get round more often! I'm definitely a "slow blogger" but I get there in the end. I know what you mean about the "far flung" community.

Poetry we write as teenagers can have really eerie resonances when we reread it decades later. It can have a kind of prophetic quality that was impossible to forsee. I'm not suggesting anything particularly "supernatural" necessarily, merely that the poetry is that of a self that is taking shape and that will influence the life to be lived.

Tara said...

I missed your post on Memorial Day, and I couldn't find it in your lists of posts. What am I missing?

Your project is exciting -- two exhibits no less. Love to see coverage of it here, on the blog, when it is up.

I was very emotional this D-Day -- cried often when watching news coverage. Cried seeing the old veterans return to mark the day. And cried, for a different reason, when I saw our POTUS there, he did not belong in any way shape or form.

am said...

Tara -- I didn't post anything on Memorial Day this year, but this is what I posted in connection with Memorial Day:

This Memorial Day I thought of your recent photo of Normandy which brought up strong emotions in me.

Elizabeth said...

I rarely comment, but I do love your blog and appreciate your eclectic curatorial skills as well as your clear, honest writing. Thank you.

Nick said...

I like your poem, am.