Nocturne

Life is a canvas we paint on each day, starting off with the brilliant sunrise of dawn, as we grow toward the nocturne of our lives, with the purple dusky serenade of night to come. We can paint our days as colorful as we wish; or we can end up with a muddy composition written entirely in the minor key. I miss my parents. Of course, one always does, when they have passed from this earth. Certain times of the year, or smells, sounds,- evoke an emptiness that can become palpable, if we don't get busy with our paintbrushes and make the memories bright and exuberant on our canvases, which I mostly always do. As Mother's Day approaches, I am missing my mom more than ever. I was very close to my dad, had a tumultuous relationship growing up with my domineering mother, yet as I have blogged before, became best of friends with her before she passed in 2002, a month short of her 90th birthday. I wrote the following persona poem nineteen years ago, and it was subsequently published in an anthology.

In a recurring dream, my father had died. I wrote this poem imagining my mother's voice, of what might come to pass when he did eventually die, out of empathy for the elderly condition. Several months later, my dad died suddenly, while on vacation.        

                                            NOCTURNE 

Another one gone, just like that, taken
as though stealing a gem,
no need for sirens anymore. 


We'd only played Gin two nights ago; 
I'd complained my arthritis was kicking up. 
She laughed at my excuses, then said, 
"I feel lucky." 


This photograph in black and white 
gives a flat, unreal image of 
the colors, the textures, of taffeta, 
chiffon, velvet and satin, 
we girls in our formals, with minks 
draped around us, the men in tuxedos 
with fresh boutonnieres. 


Martinis, Manhattans, Revlon's "Love That Red" 
lips, and matting the shine of callow skin 
before we took off in assorted pumpkins for 
The Nocturne Club. 


Saturday nights spent under a mirrored moon-ball 
that sprayed diamonds around the darkened room, 
as we danced to Glen Miller's 
String of Pearls...


Did I preen longer in the women's lounge 
because so many husbands flirted with me? 
They said that I looked like Loretta Young; I coyly 
blushed, under well-rouged cheeks. 


Now I look in the mirror, and only see Death, 
crooking his gnarled finger at me. 
In this time-worn photo, my eyes are as bright 
as my taffeta gown, of emerald green. 


"Four o'clock," I whisper, to the man in the picture, 
with his hand on my shoulder, and a smile 
that held promise. I pour the cocktails: 
A Manhattan for me, a Martini for him. The Big Bands play 
soft, in a minor key. 


"What a shame about Helen, so suddenly," he'd say. 
I stare ahead, nodding, 
and not toasting anything, wait 
for the liquor, like Novocaine.


(Copyright © 1993, and may not be reproduced in any manner.) 

Carrots, Eggs, and Coffee

A dear friend sent me this today. She is a wonderful, loving person who has recently gone through courses of debilitating chemotherapy for stage 3 ovarian cancer. It was a surprise to find she had it; she'd had a "complete hysterectomy" years earlier, only to find that her doctor had, in fact, left one ovary.

We pick each other up, mostly me her, as I have been blessed with an optimism that has seen me through near death, breast cancer, and many other challenges in life.

What she sent is so true, and so thought-provoking, I want to share it with everyone:

Carrots, Eggs & Coffee


A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling... It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.

In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.... Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg.

Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee.. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, “What does it mean, mother?”

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?"

Think of this: Which am I?
Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat?
Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff?
Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor.

If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you. When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest do you elevate yourself to another level?

How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.

The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.. When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling.. Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying for losing your bright light from their lives.

And hope that once their tears are shed, they, too, will once again be smiling at remembrance.

Let us all be coffee!