Two Poems: Trusting Your Instincts

Are we born with a gut instinct for things or is it only after a bit of living that we begin to develop this fine art of discernment?  I had a gut instinct that the man I met at age 21 might be the perfect man for me.  After 33 years of marriage, my gut tells me I made the right call, but it’s not so easy figuring out love.  It’s hard for young people to sort out their feelings in relationships. 

What is love and how do you know when it’s real?  Trust your instincts, use your common sense, spend time together, listen, and open your heart to honest dialogue.  Give of yourself, and use all the methods at your disposal to find your way to love.  It’s the only way to know for sure.  I offer two poems for your consideration.

He Loses No Sleep over You

I just had a feeling

 In my gut

That something

Wasn’t right about him,

About the day, the place,

The time we met,

There was something

In the way he tilted his head,

The way his eyes

Never smiled,

The way he looked

Over my shoulder,

Calculating

His next conquest,

His next conversation,

My gut instinct

Sounded the alarm,

Beware, 

be cautious,

Of this man who

Speaks sweet nothings,

But offers nothing of himself,

Think clearly

Before losing your heart

To a man who

Loses no sleep over you.

Because His Love Was True

I just had a feeling

In my gut

That he was

The man for me,

It was something about

The way he tilted his head,

The way he smiled with

His eyes,

The way he listened

And laughed with me,

Over silly things,

Simple things,

The way he spoke of nothing,

But it felt like everything,

everything important,

everything that mattered,

to me

I just had a feeling

And that feeling led to love.

Beef Stew With a Dash of Philosophy

Beef Stew With a Dash of Philosophy

            I stopped in a local market today, headed to the meat department and ordered a pound of stew meat.  I asked the butcher how his day was going, and he said, “I wish I was in the Caribbean.”  I said that sounded quite lovely but that I had never been.  He said, “Oh you should go.  It’s a magnificent place.”  It turns out his grandparents from Italy had purchased a house on St. Maarten over 40 year ago and the house has remained a place for the family to visit, having survived multiple hurricanes and several major post-hurricane overhauls.  I could practically see the ocean through his eyes.

            From there we segued into a discussion of his Italian heritage and the European way of life.  He spoke of his visits to the old country with wistfulness.  He shared a story of a trip to his grandmother’s home in Guilianova, Italy when he was a young man.  He had slept with the windows open facing the Adriatic Sea and was awakened by the aroma of fresh bread and pastries.  He arose, hopped on his bicycle and headed off to discover the source. He traversed the steep hill leading down to the village below and discovered a bakery in full operation.  The sun was just beginning to rise for the day.  He described a diminutive, round Italian woman who noticed him peering in the window.  She shouted, “Buon Giorno!  Americano?”  He nodded and was invited into a room full of appetizing wonders, scintillating aromas and mouth-watering delights.  The women bakers filled his stomach with treats and his arms with breads and tortes.  After a few friendly pinches on his cheeks, he was sent out the door to ride his bicycle back up the hill to share his treasures with his ‘famiglia’.  His family had been searching for him, but quickly understood where he had been when he arrived with a trail of flour behind him and the scent of heaven in his arms. 

He then shared his thoughts on Americans and our busy, busy lives - always in a hurry to get nowhere fast.  He noted the humane working hours in Italy. A couple of hours in the middle of the day for eating and resting before returning to work are the norm.  He mentioned the month off in August that everyone takes as an annual holiday.  He wondered out loud what would happen if a few American corporations dared to adopt this philosophy and just shut down for an entire month. 

            So, Bill and I stood there and talked for about 20 minutes as shoppers passed by, hurriedly picking up groceries for the day and week.  We were fortunate that no one came to the meat counter while we were discussing these important issues. 

            I never cease to be amazed at the conversations that occur when I ask the simple question, “How’s your day going?”  If I show real interest and take the time to listen, I come away enriched with a new perspective and sometimes a new friend.  The next time I buy stew meat or a roasting chicken, I may inquire further about his philosophies for changing our busy American culture.  I think he’s onto something.

Beef Stew

1 lb. beef stew meat

Two bay leaves

Six carrots cleaned and sliced

Six potatoes peeled and sliced

One onion peeled and diced

Beef broth

Salt & pepper to taste

In a heavy pot, cook the beef in the beef broth with the bay leaves over medium to medium high heat.  Add the potatoes, carrots and onions. Cook until juicy and tender.  Remove the bay leaves.  Salt and pepper to taste.  Mix cornstarch in a little water and add slowly to the juice if you wish to have a thicker gravy base.  Voila – beef stew!

Poem - Something in the Air

Vermont 2009 © Rita Bourland

 Something in the Air

November has arrived,

The time will change,

Frost might even appear,

Brrr, I’m cold,

Just thinking

About the cold,

About catching a cold,

But it’s not so bad,

The cold,

Snuggle in a downy wrap,

Settle in, read a book,

Drink some cocoa,

Make some stew,

Or cider brew,

But don’t stop walking

On the cold, cold days,

Go outside, feel the air

Bite at your cheeks,

Feel the air

Blow through your hair,

Feel the air,

It might just

Open your mind to the

Possibility

That winter comes for a reason,

To nurture your mind,

Replenish your body,

With the stuff of thought,

The stuff of soul,

The stuff we push aside

At other busy times

Of the year,

Brrr, I’m cold,

But not too cold

To feel the promise

Of something more

In the air

Than cold.

Poem and Essay - My New Self

My New Self

We've all heard this phrase before.  Someone has been sick and a friend kindly says, "You'll be back to your old self in no time."  Maybe you've been depressed or under the weather and you say to your spouse, "I can't wait to get back to my old self."

A very wise young man said to me recently that getting back to one's old self shouldn't be the goal.  He pointed out that we are constantly changing and evolving.  When we go through illness or dark days, we are permanently changed by the experience.  Our idealized old self no longer exists.  We have shed some skin and emerged with new perspectives and some deeper thoughts about life. 

Our new self just might be better, more open, healthier and more accepting.  Don't long for that person you once were, embrace the one you are now.  

My old self disappeared,

POOF! - just like magic,

I wasn't trying -

it just happened,

as things 

sometimes do.

I looked high and low,

and then one day

I looked

in the mirror

and saw myself,

my 

new self,

different but good,

bruised but whole;

wholly changed

by a bump in the road,

"Hello," I said.  

"Nice to meet you."

"You seem different than before,

but I like what I see,

I like who you are,

and

I like where we're headed

together."

POOF! - just like magic,

the new me

turned and walked

away,

changed by life

but

not looking back.

.

Poem - Halloween Fright

HALLOWEEN FRIGHT
 

There’s a story that’s told about Halloween night,
The details are sketchy, but oh what a fright,
If you think about ghosts and screeching black bats,
Then add a few witches with pointy black hats,
You can start to imagine the harrowing scene,
And the facts that led up to the bone-chilling scream,

A figure was seen walking past in the dark,
He had an odd shape; his feet left no mark,
He floated past windows and over the lake,
But cast not a shadow; no sound did he make,
No witness could pinpoint the sight they had seen,
It could have been real or maybe a dream,

But just after midnight a scream ripped the night,
The wind blew a chill through covers held tight.
Who was alone in the woods at this hour?
Why did they scream; where did they cower?

With nerves set on edge and fear in his heart,
Young Johnny McGee set off through the dark,
The sight he discovered has not come to light,
For Johnny McGee never spoke of that night,
In fact, young McGee never spoke again ever,
The fright of that night changed Johnny forever,

So watch where you roam on Halloween night,
If you go out alone, please stay out of sight,
There are scary, black cats and goblins out there,
And strange ghostly shadows floating on air,

You might see McGee out taking a walk,
He may tip his hat, but never will talk.

Poem: Being Special

Being Special

I decided a long time ago

that I wanted to be

somebody

special,

but I wasn’t sure how

to accomplish

that goal,

being special,

it seemed to require

more than I could

deliver,

 then one day, I realized

I just needed to be me,

just me,

and I would be special;

it didn’t require much at all,

after all.

Short Fiction - I Wouldn't Be Surprised - Part II - Conclusion

A week after the delivery, I was rushing around getting ready for work, when I bumped into the corner of the cabinet.  I hadn’t found the perfect place in my apartment just yet, plus it was too heavy for me to move, so it was still just inside my doorway.  As I bumped the corner and started rubbing my hip, I noticed that an envelope had dropped to the floor. 
Where did that come from? 
I bent over to retrieve it and saw the loosened duct tape on the back of the cabinet.  
My heart began to beat a little faster as I carried the letter to the kitchen table. 

Dear Linda,
    I know the cabinet’s arrival must have taken you by surprise, but I though it best that you receive it in your home where it clearly belongs.  With all the turmoil after your parents’ accident, I knew you didn’t have the heart to go through their belongings just yet.  You trusted me to keep an eye on things here in Ohio until you had time to come back and look them over.  I have taken that trust very seriously.
    I found the enclosed letter in your mother’s desk a few weeks ago.  I was going to pay some of the ongoing house utility bills and was rummaging around for some stamps when I found the envelope.  It was addressed to you.  The outside of the envelope said:  Dear Linda, please don’t ever get rid of the wooden cabinet.  There is a story.
    So, dear niece, I taped the envelope to the back of the case and shipped it off to you.  I did not read the letter.  I hope whatever you find inside brings you comfort.   With Love & Affection, Aunt Denise

Aunt Denise was as close to me as a sister.  She was 15 years younger than my mom and only 10 years older than me, so we grew up with a special closeness.  I went on trips with her and shared my deepest secrets.  We had a very special bond and I trusted her completely.
After my folks funeral and memorial service, I had to return to New York right away, so she had agreed to keep an eye on things until I could come back and spend some time sorting through things.  An only child, I knew I had an enormous task before me, but I had pushed it to the back of my mind and thrown myself into my advertising work with a fervor.  And then the cabinet arrived.
I opened the enclosed envelope with tenderness, realizing my mother had sealed it.  I missed my folks so much.

Dear Linda,
    I’m not sure when you will open this letter or how you will feel about what I am about to say, but I hope you come to treasure this cabinet in the same way I have.
    When I was 20 years old, five years before I met your father, I had started my first job and was setting up my apartment in Indianapolis.  I would often go to flea markets, garage sales and estate sales to find items to furnish my place.  I had a blast digging through junk to find any little treasure.  One Saturday afternoon, I stopped in a small resale furniture shop and spotted the wooden cabinet.  It was nestled in a corner with a crooked lamp resting on top.  A thin layer of dust meant it hadn’t been touched in awhile.  I smelled a deal. 
    The owner approached from the back of the store.  A man in his 30’s with an athletic frame, he strode toward me with energy and purpose.  He looked Italian with his dark eyes and hair and confirmed my opinion when he spoke with a fluid Italian accent. 
“My dear, can I interest you in this fine piece of furniture?  It has been sitting in that corner for three years and needs a good home.  It comes from Italy and was made by my father Giuseppe.  He made many of these, so I have decided to sell a few, but only to those I deem worthy of such a fine piece of furniture.”  Putting out his hand, he gave me a dazzling smile and said, “My name is Carlos.  Welcome to my shop.”
Linda, I was smitten, more with the man than with the cabinet.  We talked for the next two hours about my new job, my family, his family, his father’s woodworking shop, how Carlos came to America and on and on.  He invited me to dinner and ended up cooking me a feast of Italian dishes in the apartment at the back of the shop.  We drank wine and talked into the wee hours of the night.  I spent the night with him and returned many times over the next six months.  I envisioned marriage, children, Italian vacations and helping him run the shop. 
One Saturday, I arrived for our evening together and there was a note taped to the door.  My Dearest Susanne, it said, I have returned to Italy for a family emergency.  My father is ill and it may be many months before I return.  I love you,  but life has made a choice for me.  Family comes first.  I will always hold you in my heart. 
There was a sign on the door which said:  Dear loyal customers: My shop is closed indefinitely due to a family emergency in Italy.  I will be away for many months and hope to return someday - until then, Dio sia con te – May God be with you. 
I drove home in tears - great sobbing tears.  I mourned the loss of my innocence, of first love and of this beautiful man who had touched my heart.
A few days later, a delivery man arrived at my door.  He was a large man carrying an even larger box.  He shoved it through my front door and then asked me to sign for it.  I hadn’t ordered anything, but it was clearly my name on the address.  I retrieved the scissors from the kitchen and slit the seams of the box.  There was the wooden cabinet from Carlos’ shop.  As tears began to flow, I opened the latch and found a letter.
Dear Susanne, I am so sorry for leaving you.  You are a beautiful young woman with your whole life ahead of you.  Someday you will forget about me, find a husband and live happily ever after.  I want you to have this cabinet as a reminder of our time together.  Fill it with the things that bring you joy, the things that warm your heart and the things that store memories.  I will never forget you.  You are full of light and life – a true gift from God.  Love, Carlos
I met your father five years later and never looked back, but I kept the cabinet all these years because it reminds me of who I really am – a person of light and life.  And I did fill the cabinet with memories – memories of your father and you.  You are the people who bring me joy, who warm my heart and have given me a lifetime of happiness.  I hope you treasure the cabinet for the same reasons.  Love, Mom

I put the letter down and sighed, thinking about my folks, about my mom being 20 and experiencing her first love and about the treasures in the cabinet.  Yes, I thought, I will take care of the cabinet and begin to fill it with my own memories.  My folks are gone, but I will try to carry their love, light and life with me as I travel the rest of my days.  I tucked the letter inside the cabinet, got out some furniture polish and lovingly rubbed the wood.  Happiness, so elusive, so tender - emotions so strong, so telling of our hearts inner longings.  Dio sia con te, mom and dad, may God be with you always.  I strode out the door and headed off to catch the subway for another day of work. 

Short Fiction - I Wouldn't Be Surprised - Part I

     I wouldn’t be surprised if something wonderful happens today.  I woke with the feeling that good news was around the corner and happiness was within reach - such an elusive thing - happiness.  Ever since my parents died, I have felt adrift, wondering which direction to go in my life.  My grieving has had a grip on me, but today I planned to move forward.  When the intercom buzzed, it broke my reverie. 
    “Hello,” I said. 
    “Is this Linda Sanders?” the disembodied voice inquired.
    “Yes, how can I help you?” 
    “I’ve got a delivery with your name on it.  Can I bring it up?”
    “What kind of delivery?”
    “Lady, I don’t ask questions, I just deliver stuff.”
    “Okay, come on up.”
When I opened the door, I was faced with a large delivery man hoisting an even larger box.  How he got it up four flights of stairs was beyond me, but now it was on my doorstep awaiting entry.
    “Just sign here, lady.”
    “Can you help push this inside?”
    “Yeah, but once it’s through the door, I’m done.”
    After the delivery guy was gone I gave the box a long stare.  It was about five feet tall and two feet wide.  The postmark was smudged and the return address absent.  I hadn’t ordered anything.  I felt a tingle of anticipation.
    I hurried to the kitchen to retrieve scissors and began cutting away at the seams of the box.  And there it was - a beautiful old cabinet of carved cherry with intricate inlaid wood on the door.  But the real treasure was inside.  I didn’t even need to look to know what I would discover.  Happiness was starting to move from my toes to the top of my head as I unlatched the door.  There were the board games of my youth and the dusty family photo albums - a gift from my parents from beyond the grave.  
   How this gift arrived at my apartment on this particular day would be discovered later, but for now I grabbed a cup of coffee and spent the rest of the morning paging through the photos and reliving the past.  
   Happiness can never be permanent, but a small piece of my past had just given me a surge of joy that would carry me for many a day.

Poem - Bully for You

Bully for You

Bully for you, bully for me,

We need a new bully

If we’re to have three,

Bullies are there

Behind every tree,

They want to be mean,

They want to be seen,

So, how do we stop

These sinister fools?

Try to play cool?

Stay after school?

Remind them it’s

Nicer to play by the rules?

We mustn’t let bullies ruin the day,

They make it no fun to go out and play,

Let’s form a new pact and stay far away,

Leaving bullies behind

Just might save the day,

And I say hooray!

Poem - This is My Wish for You

This is my wish for you:

May your heart be light,

worries take flight,

and sleep

come easily to you tonight,

may all that you fear,

soon disappear,

drying the tear

that’s often so near,

on each dawning day,

I promise to pray,

that all of your troubles

will be held at bay,

may joy come to you,

and those you love too,

filling you through,

with love that is true,

I just want to say,

I wish you the best,

I wish you good rest

and may your life

always be

simple and blessed.