in Old October, all things on earth point home…

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Thomas Wolfe wrote, “All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.

Especially those in the military long for the peaceful fire of the hearth and family

My Father Was a Young Man Then


by Maria Mazziotti Gillan

Only 16, when he came from Italy alone,


moved into the Riverside neighborhood


full of Italians from Cilento—all of whom


 spoke the same dialect, so it was as though


they had transported those mountain villagers

to Paterson. At first, America was terrifying,


English, a language they could not master,


but my father was a young man


and he became friends with other young people


and they learned how to take buses and trains


or to borrow a car, and off they’d go


on the weekend to Rye Brook or Coney Island,


free from their factory jobs on the weekends,


reveling in the strength of their bodies,


the laughter and music and the company.

My father was a young man then,


and even when he died at 92

he never lost the happiness


that bubbled up in him,


the irrepressible joy of being alive,


the love of being with friends.

I imagine him in that time


before he married my mother,


before we were born,


before he had a tumor on his spine


that left him with a limp.


Imagine him with his broad smile,


his booming laugh, his generous spirit,


his sharp intelligence,


imagine him as a young man,


his head full of dreams,


his love of politics and math,


all the way into old age,


though his legs failed him,


though his body grew trembling and frail,


his mind never did.

When I’d arrive at the house


all those years after mom died, he’d smile
 at me with real pleasure,


the young man he was at 16 would emerge,


sit in the room with us


and laugh.
 
“My Father Was a Young Man Then” by Maria Mazziotti Gillan from What Blooms in Winter. © NYQ Books, 2016. Reprinted with permission.

Evolve…(version 2)

evolve-version2

My sister, Ginger, a psychologist shared in this piece by editing it from her personal experience counseling veterans.

I have rewritten it and want to share it with you today. She also recommended the book at the bottom. I have ordered it myself from Amazon.

If you want to share your reaction to the book or post , feel free to share on this blog.

history of mother’s day

Quenby&Jeanne

the 1980’s…

 

Together in comfort, acceptance and love

2007…..

Today is Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day as we know it — where we celebrate our own mothers, with flowers, gifts, and cards — is relatively new, but annual celebrations to celebrate motherhood are an ancient practice.
The motherhood festivities have historically been in spring, the season of fertility. In ancient Egypt, there were celebrations to honor Isis, the loving mother-goddess, who is often shown in Egyptian art with the baby Horus at her breast, much like Mary and Jesus in later Christian iconography. The cult of the great mother-goddess Cybele began in Turkey and soon moved to Greece and Rome, and she was worshipped in some form for more than a thousand years. Her priestesses led wild celebrations, full of drinking, dancing, music, and all kinds of debauchery.
As the Roman Empire and Europe transitioned to Christianity, the Church set aside the fourth Sunday of Lent as a day to honor motherhood. It was a day to celebrate the Virgin Mary, and for people to honor their “mother church.”
In the 1600s, England declared an official Mothering Day for that fourth Sunday of Lent. It was a time when families were encouraged to get together, and servants or workers were allowed one day off work to go see their mothers, since many working-class families in England worked as servants on separate estates and rarely got to see each other. Mothering Day was also declared an exception to the fasting and penance of Lent, so that families could have a feast together.
When the pilgrims came to America, they stopped celebrating Mothering Day, just as they stopped celebrating most holidays that they thought had become too secular.
Mother’s Day was reintroduced to America in 1870 by Julia Ward Howe, who wanted to set aside a day of protest after the Civil War, in which mothers could come together and protest their sons killing other mothers’ sons.
But the woman who really created Mother’s Day as now it was Anna Jarvis. Her mother had held Mother’s Friendship Days to reunite families and neighbors separated during the war, and when she died, her daughter, Anna Jarvis, worked to proclaim an official Mother’s Day to honor her mother and celebrate peace. And so on May 10, 1908, the first official Mother’s Day celebrations took place in Grafton, West Virginia, and at a church in Philadelphia. In 1914, Woodrow Wilson designated the second Sunday of May as Mother’s Day.
But Mother’s Day became commercialized very quickly, especially in the floral industry, and Anna Jarvis was furious. She said, “What will you do to route charlatans, bandits, pirates, racketeers, kidnappers, and other termites that would undermine with their greed one of the finest, noblest, and truest movements and celebrations?” But flower sales and card sales continued to grow, and Anna Jarvis died in poverty and without any children of her own.

quandary…

TheGospelCoverGrab

Jeanne’s latest book with her caught in the chaos of sticking to priorities

 

A quandary sent to my pastor this am in response to her text for Sunday’s sermon:

Hi my favorite priest!

Every day I look forward to your sacred communiques!

And I have to prioritize:
1 Do I do a hand calligraphy of the sacred scripture to frame and give away? or
2 Do I meditate further on the proper of the Sunday Mass as presented with music, video, text and divine inspiration? or
3 Do I attend to an endless list of medical follow ups for both Don and I? or  
4 Do laundry, vacuum, shop for groceries, cook or attend to household chores? or
5 Do I face-time my grown children, sister, brothers, vulnerable neighbors and friends, and grandchildren?

Sometimes the pandemic cuts through with immediate needs.
Do we have the correct masks?
Is planting flowers for mother’s day an essential task?

You make the scripture louder than everything else as it should be.

Thank you for your holy touch.
Jeanne

call Lenox – talk to Tucson

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photo by Jeanne of caricatures by Jeanne 5/6/2018

Program Advisors

 

elegant Berkshire estate setting

called to me

for a day spa experience

in whole health renewal

I phoned Lenox

but spoke to Faye in Tucson

who led me to the Premium Outlets in Lee

and the exercise attire I needed for my activities.

They were phenomenal:

dining

cardio water fitness

balancing and movement

and a hour massage.

In between

I walked the cool dry hallways

and viewed the outdoor options.

 

privacy and friendliness were everywhere

as I navigated for the first time.

surrounded by art,

music,

craft,

and mysticism!

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pumpkin cheese cake

Poetry Reading in Song

JeanneIn Studio

Jeanne Listens to iMac

in the studio with the greatest sounds

 

We listened to the poems

the music, the beat

of hearts of artists

who jammed,

rejoiced

in words

found

in the deep

and

flew up!

Thankyou Jan Hutchinson, for the prompts extraordiaire!

listen for yourself:

Definition #184 Ars Poetica

An Ars Poetica poem

talks about the art of writing poetry,

presents the poet’s views on what a poem is

and how it should be written.

Tea in Maine

A poem is sound:       Ruth Grierson plays  violin.

A poem is memory:      Scottish jigs & ballads;

A poem is taste:            all kinds of music but rap!!!!!!

A poem is smell:            while we sip English Tea

A poem is a stage:        at the library;

A poem is a story:         hear about:

the ceremonial burning

                                        of old buildings that need replacement
the Fire of 1947;

                                      that stopped when the fireball hit the sea!
the flames brought forth

                                              the aspen, birch and new seeds that burst in the heat!

Definition #176 Three Doors

Bob Boyajian April 9, 2015

Bob Boyajian
April 9, 2015

Three doors to happiness for a life with Alzheimer’s :

laughter

color

music

Definition #158 Epoch Party

Aneli, Owen, Jeanne,Quenby in Waltham

Aneli, Owen, Jeanne,Quenby
in Waltham

Quenby3-21-2015

 picture’s worth thousands

of words, music, colors, glee,

trust, hope, endless love

Definition # 102 Music

Cafe Do Not Cry

Cafe Do Not Cry

Music

by Anne Porter

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother’s piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold

And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying

Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country

I’ve never understood
Why this is so

But there’s an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow
For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest

And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country

We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams

And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows

Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.

“Music” by Anne Porter, from Living Things. © Zoland Books, 2006. Reprinted with permission.

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