Carmen's Chronicles

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Getting Ready for Winter

My mother lives in Columbus, Georgia, in an area of eight duplexes that are built in what used to be a pecan orchard. Fifteen years ago, when she first moved in, the trees yielded large crops of nuts and I could always count on receiving several bags of shelled pecans for Christmas every year. Over the years, the trees seem to produce smaller crops but the squirrels still seem to find an ample supply to sustain them during the Georgia winters. During the past week, I've enjoyed watching them busily scampering about, hard at work. Occasionally, they take a break and frolic with each other on the lawns.

This is the view from my mother's back door.

The squirrels here are not the pretty black one's like Ratty's but the usual gray ones - they are very well camouflauged by the tree bark and the grass

This one seems airborne

A bit wary of any movement on my part

There must have been twenty of these guys out today

Play time now

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Forgotten Graveyards

I decided on my poem today after visiting one of my favorite blogs, Life at Willow Manor. Today, Willow wrote about steles, stone markers or slabs, used as monuments in cemeteries. She went on to include some wonderful cemetery pictures and to discuss symbols used in tombstone art. You can visit this blog at: http://willowmanor.blogspot.com/2009/10/steles.html.

I have always loved visiting cemeteries, especially old ones at small country churches. In days gone by, before the era of interstates and freeways, I would frequently stop in my travels, to take a break wandering among tombstones, wondering about the residents. Many of the graveyards seemed bedraggled and forgotten but, every now and then, a grave would stand out, well tended, with fresh flowers, indicating someone in the vicinity still cared about the deceased buried there.

As a student nurse in New Orleans, I spent many hours at the wonderful cemeteries, "cities of the dead," for which that city is famous. Because of the high water table of the city, burial is made in vaults above the ground. Wealthy families have tombs with crypts that are most ornate, with wrought iron gates and beautiful statuary. More than one family member can be buried in the same vault as long as the previous resident has been deceased for two years. The remains of that person are then placed in a special burial bag which is placed to the back or side of the vault, his or her coffin is destroyed, then there is room for the newly deceased family member.

When I was a new bride, my husband was stationed at Hanscom Field in the Lexington - Concord area of Massachusetts. What a wonderful place that was for old cemeteries, with very famous residents from Revolutionary times. Our group of Air Force wives would venture out, armed with colored wax and sheets of paper to do gravestone rubbings, especially on warm days, then we would lunch at some wonderful historic inn.

A few years ago, for a writing site in which I participate, I penned this poem, "Forgotten Graveyards." Willow's blog, today, remind me of it.

Forgotten Graveyards

I walk and stir the fallen leaves,
And think of those at rest,
Crumbling gravestones all around,
Which make me feel depressed.

Why this toddler's young demise?
A mother's pain so long ago
Sobs on a cold November morn,
As blustery winds would blow.

This one is a soldier's grave,
Did he die in some far war?
Longing for his love back home,
Life ebbing to a cannon's roar.

This man lived a hundred years,
He saw so much of life,
Were they years of happiness,
Or were they filled with strife?

This tree shades a woman,
"Beloved" the tombstone reads,
And yet her resting place displays,
Neglect and countless weeds.

Are they all forgotten?
Once loved but abandoned here,
To wait out all eternity
With no one to shed a tear.

Carmen Henesy

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Trick or Treat

Well, two more nights until the doorbell will be ringing, with an assortment of princesses, ghosts, goblins and superheros waiting on the stoop, anticipating a haul of sugary treats that induce nightmares in the dental profession. I no longer have little ones in my family but I love the parade, starting soon after sunset. Each year, it seems, the number of little visitors seems to dwindle as parents become more anxious about safety. It makes me feel sad that an evening that used to be so much fun has suffered because of the actions of some.

Here's hoping this Halloween will be a safe one for everyone!

Trick or Treat

A full moon lights the sky tonight,

And ghosts do roam the earth,

Witches board their broomsticks,

And cackle in great mirth.

Throngs of vampires gather,

Midst fairies, sweet and pure,

And here and there is Frankenstein,

Or a creature most obscure.

In great anticipation,

They walk about the land,

With sacks, and bags and satchels,

Held tightly in their hand.

They stroll about together,

And at every house along a street,

In a resounding chorus,

They cry out, "trick or treat."

Carmen Henesy

The Language of Roses

She walked in swaying rhythm,
On a path with petals strewn,
As waves kissed lonely beaches,
Beneath a giant golden moon

The night held scents of roses,
That grew profusely everywhere,
She had one perfect fragrant bloom,
Pinned in her flowing raven hair.

She loved their riotous colors,
A tapestry of nature's art,
The most exquisite of all flowers,
A gift from a lover's heart.

She turned to find him watching,
His smoldering eyes caressed, .
His hand held out a perfect rose,
As she smiled and ,then, undressed

Carmen Henesy

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

When It Rains

I do believe the sun's rays are making a feeble effort to break through the billowy gray clouds this morning. Yesterday was filled with torrential downpours. It reminded me of Bollywood films I've seen of India monsoons, with hour after hour of steady rain. Unlike Georgia's tumultuous summer thunderstorms, with sounds like sonic booms and blazing steaks of lightning, this was silent rain that kept up for hours. It made for such a lazy day, luring both me and my mother back to our respective bed for long afternoon naps. Such luxury to lie there, listening to the steady drumming of rain on the driveway outside the window. It reminded me of a poem I penned awhile backed, titled, "When It Rains." I hope you like it.

When It Rains

Crashing drops pound upon,
The roof of hammered tin,
And I stretch, languidly,
And become a child again.

I recall those summer days,
When a sudden raging storm,
Left puddles meant for splashing,
With water nice and warm!

Raindrops fall on arid lands,
And quench the thirsty earth,
Rewarding us with flowers,
And a sense of new rebirth.

Downpours fall in heavy sheets,
Obscuring all from sight,
A hazard for those driving,
Or venturing out into the night.

Rain can be the lightest mist,
That barely wets the ground,
And as it falls around us,
It doesn't make a sound.

It also falls while thunder,
Booms from a threatening sky,
Accented by streaked lightning,
Menacing all nearby.

Carmen Henesy

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Ramblings from the South

I arrived in Columbus, GA about 1PM on Sunday, October 25th, twelve hours after I left San Francisco International. I was unbelievably lucky on my five hour overnight flight to New York - three whole seats to myself in coach so I was able to stretch out and sleep for about three hours ( of course, not nearly so comfortably as in business class to and from Europe for my birthday - still I gave thanks for my good fortune! ), For the first time ever, I did not rent a car this visit. Now that my retirement has me on such a fixed income, the $200/week fee seemed too steep for the convenience of having a car sit in the driveway for most of my stay. I decided to be practical and get a car for a couple of days only since I do need to take my mother to get a senior citizen I. D. card and I'll need to do some grocery shopping. Even the shopping could be done by taxi on a short jaunt that would cost less than eight dollars round trip.

This morning, the installer from Mediacom braved the torrential sheets of rain to come out and put in internet for me so, at least, I am connected to the outside world, email, and blogging. How quickly we take these things for granted. Last visit, I had an important project I was unable to complete by its deadline so it seemed well worth the $20/month internet fee to have internet access here. My brother, who is an IBM employee, will also have it handy when he visits from Florida so we will both benefit. I just wish my mother had gotten a computer before her eyesight deteriorated so much. She always had such a thirst for knowledge and, with the ability to enlarge font, make pictures full screen, this would have been wonderful for her. When I mention it now, she just tells me she isn't interested.

While I am home, I will be able to show her all my online photo albums. She hasn't been able to see much of her grandsons over the years and, with me living 2500 miles away, my visits have usually been limited to two a year. I'm glad I've come three times since my retirement in April. It breaks my heart to see her sitting in her chair across the room, staring into space, listening to the rain. My mother says she isn't in any pain at all which surprises me since she used to complain of joint pain in her knees and wrists.

I am cherishing my time with her, happy to be able to fix meals for her and glad of this time together when we are not at odds as we often were in years past. Now, while she naps, I am going to catch up on the blog reading I have missed since I left home Saturday night. I have certainly missed you all, especially with my two with absence for my birthday!

Friday, October 23, 2009

Returning From the Library

Since my children have grown up, I haven't been a frequent user of the library. With my forensic nursing job, I would be at the hospital all hours of the day and night, taking care of victims of sexual assault and, when I wasn't, I would try to grab a little sleep in the odd moments that I could. I absolutely love libraries but most weren't conveniently open to suit my neeed ( 4AM, midnight ). I learned about new books via the internet - so conveniently available ALL the time. If I saw something I liked, I would order it. Now with the loss of my job of twenty-one years, in the horrible budget cuts to the San Francisco Department of Public Health, my retirement, and the major decrease in my annual income, I cannot afford to order books the way I once did. Woe is me!! Adjustment is not easy for an old lady! However, it has forced me to rediscover libraries and what wondrous places they are. I spend hours at the one closest to my house. When it doesn't offer what I need, I venture further afield to downtown San Francisco, an absolute mecca of volumes to keep one entertained indefinitely.

This poem was penned after one such visit.

Returning From the Library

An afternoon well spent,

In avid search of books,

From myriad various stacks,

And hidden little nooks.

I’m anxious to get home,

My treasures to peruse,

Viewing all the volumes,

Which one will I first choose?

For two weeks I will be,

Enmeshed in many tasks,

Mastering Balinese cooking,

Illustrated by exotic masks.

I have the new bestseller,

A favorite mystery sleuth,

Who keeps me waiting breathless,

As he searches for the truth.

I’ve a book on herbal medicine,

I hope that I can learn,

To halt the aging process,

And help my youth return!

There’s a travel volume,

With scenes of glorious Greece,

And a book of meditations,

To help find inner peace.

That will keep me busy,

But if I need a few days more,

I can do online renewal,

Without walking out my door!

Carmen Henesy

Thursday, October 22, 2009

On Poems

Poems have filled us all with wonder,

Written by the rich and poor,

Verses penned in homes palatial,

Or in hovels most obscure.

Epic tales of ancient Greece,

Show modern times Achilles' wrath,

Or let us see through Robert Frost,

The snowy woods on a winter path.

Poets speak of love unending,

In sonnets and in flowery prose,

Japanese poets gave us haiku,

From which simple beauty flows.

Five lined limericks make us laugh,

Though some may be a bit risqué,

While ballads, often sung in rhyme,

Narrative tales they may portray.

Whatever genre peaks your fancy,

There is a type for every soul,

A literary journey for the senses,

The rewards of which I can extol.

Carmen Henesy