Haunted

With "Opera Babes" in the CD player, I head out for my evening walk. My journey takes me to the old cemetary and I wander amongst the long forgotten graves tucked into the woods, haunted by the past. Who sleeps here? Who mourned their loss?

"O Fortuna" provides the perfect backdrop to my melancholy mood.

"Fate, monstrous
and empty
you whirling wheel,
you are malevolent,
well-being in vain
and always fades to nothing."

Soprano and mezzo soprano soar and whirl around me, like the leaves stirred by the wind.

The untended graves are starting to sink in the ground, leaving deep impressions and I morbidly imagine them rising to the surface. Shaking off the image, I head back out to the road.

Would that I could bury past resentments and hurts, but mine lay hidden in shallow graves, occasionally rising to the surface again. A half-buried conversation rises, "Why do we take back what we have given away?" Yes, why reclaim the past?

I long for an unoffended heart. For now, I give the resentment over to prayer. Every time it rises, I offer it up again.

Fate, malevolent you may be - but God is ever benevolent and loving. My fate rests in him.

I arrive at my back door, resentment left behind in long forgotten graves.

@2005 Eveline Maedel - may not be reproduced without permission * o

Haunted

Please Pass the Prozac

I'm not sure there's enough chamomile tea in the world to calm me now. This morning I became the mother of a sixteen year old son with a beginner driver's license. Look out world! * o

Please Pass the Prozac

Opera and Prayer

I'll be the first to admit I know little about opera, aside from Gilbert & Sullivan operettas, The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, and the saying "it's not over 'til the fat lady sings." My friend Erica, has been patiently trying to instruct me in the finer joys of opera. It's obvious when you read Erica's writing that she is passionate about opera, so I appreciate her patience with this "non-aficionado".

Testing the waters, I asked Erica what she would recommend for a beginner listener and she suggested some operas by her favorite composer, Puccini. Timidly, I journeyed to HMV and purchased a CD of selected Puccini compositions. So begins my exploration of opera.

Not too long ago, Erica sent me a poem by Marge Piercy from her collection COLORS PASSING THROUGH US. The poem is entitled, "One reason I like opera". Piercy speaks disdainfully of the movie world, with its focus on the visually appealing. The heroine is always
beautiful. the "fat lady a joke". And the pretty people always win. In opera, on the other hand, the heroine is old and heavy, the hero "wolfs down an eight course meal daily". It is the voices that are beautiful, passionate, strong, lusty, deep and mournfully soul filling. Opera is the real world, movies the glitzy world.

This I get. I can listen to my Puccini CD, not understand a word of what is being sung, but the emotions resonate within me. There is no need for any language other than that of music. I close my eyes and follow the music's path. For all I know, they could be singing a grocery list. But oh, what passion it is sung with!

Can you imagine if we prayed with such a passion? David did in the Psalms. Consider Psalm 13:
"How long, Or Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death:" (Psalm 13:1-3, NIV)

David's prayers are opera. Mine are more like movies - pretty on the surface, but not too deep, too passionate. * o

Opera and Prayer

A Little Help for My Friend

My friend Rosanne has an ezine, The Cat's Meow for Writers and Readers.

She wrote me last night to let me know that she has received tons of submissions for her e-zine, but few that she can feature in the "Coffee House" section, so, if you're reading this and you are a budding poet or short story writer, check out Rosanne's website, read the submission guidelines and send your submissions in! You may be the next "Featured Poet".

I can tell you that Rosanne is one of the sweetest people out there, and loves to promote aspiring writers - and that's the "cat's meow"! * o

A Little Help for My Friend

Signs of Spring

Sunlight plays with
delicate purple shadows
and whispers of summer yet to be.
Drunk on languid winter days,
I dream of a luscious garden.

Spring fever is setting in. I'm restless, can't concentrate, and don't seem to accomplish much. (Wait a minute, I blamed cabin fever for that last month!). The top 5 signs that spring is here?

1. Hubby puts snowmachine in the garage.
2. The BBQ takes it's rightful place on the deck.
3. The patio furniture comes out of storage.
4. Kids are all over the place on their bikes, and
(drumroll........)
5. Dog poo sprouts on the lawn!

Now, if the geese would just start returning, spring would definitely be here! * o

Signs of Spring

Two of the Funniest Women on the Web

Stressful day? Need a good laugh? Then check out these two ladies, absolutely two of the funniest women writer's out there. I'm glad I don't have to give out humour awards (yes, that's "humour", I spell Canadian).


Georgia Richardson, or Queen Jaw Jaw to her court of fans, always finds a humorous twist to everyday life. Not only is her website beautiful, its funny! Be sure to sign up for her Monday morning dose of humour "All Things Royal" - great way to start the week.

Queen Jaw Jaw

Another "twisted sister", Sherri, the "Queen of her double wide trailer" generally has me rolling on the floor with laughter. I frequently check her blog for updates (but then, I don't have a life...)
Wiping The Crazy Off My Face: Cause I Said So

Enjoy! And keep laughing - it's good for you. * o

Two of the Funniest Women on the Web

Farewell, Karol

When I was a young teen I came across this poem written by Pope John Paul II in a magazine. It was written before he was a parish priest. I had this poem pinned up on my wall for many years, before tucking it away in one of my poetry books. To me it held the promise of youth, a future yet unknown, written by a man before he became spiritual leader to millions world wide.

Children

Growing unawares through love, of a sudden
they've grown up, and hand in hand
wander in crowds (their hearts caught like birds,
profiles pale in the dusk).
The pulse of mankind beats in their hearts.

On a bank by the river, holding hands-
a tree stump in moonlight, the earth a half-whisper-
the children's hearts rise over the water.
Will they be changed when they get up and go?

Or look at it this way: a goblet of light tilted
over a plant reveals unknown inwardness.
Will you spoil what has begun in you?
Will you always separate the right from the wrong?
- Karol Woytyla

Farewell, Karol - poet and pope. In peace, and in glory. * o

Farewell, Karol

Poetry and Patchouli

It was a beautiful day Saturday - warm and sunny. The promise of spring in the air. I'd sat all day indoors at a meeting and had just been dropped off at the mall for a quick "kill an hour shopping" moment. The first thing to beckon me as I entered the mall? The local library having a used book sale. Nothing better than browsing up and down the tables looking for an odd find, a good bargain, a well perused novel. Twenty minutes later I was paying for a $3.00 copy of
"Everyman's Book of English Verse". A heavy tome from 1981 that promises hours well spent with the masters - Milton, Shakespeare, Marlowe et al. Book in hand I wandered to the Body Shop in search of patchouli. And if patchouli could not be found, then something heady, spicy and exotic would have to do. Lotions, potions, soaps and creams - all had to be smelled. Too fruity? Pass that up. Too flowery? Nope, that won't do. A rather persistent young sales clerk followed my every move, commenting on everything I picked up, hoping to make a sale. Just when I thought she was beginning to border on annoying (or had she actually passed annoying about five minutes earlier?) I spotted the patchouli oil, and some "scent your own body lotion". Happy to give her a task to do, I asked her to infuse some lotion with the patchouli oil.

So it was an hour later I left the mall. Poetry and patchouli in hand. * o

Poetry and Patchouli