I am going to put telling my grandmother’s story aside for the time being. I am still gathering information from her, my mom and from Mrs. w’s genealogical research, and I would prefer to have a very good picture of her life before I begin telling the story. I will most likely dedicate one of the “extra” blogs on my account to her story (as well as that of the rest of my mom’s family) as I find details and such.

For the time being, I will not tell the story until I have an accurate account that jibes with my grandmother’s version and the genealogical information. What makes this so hard to do is the fact the she was orphaned and can not remember her father. She remembers her mom, but she was separated from her family at age five. Her mother was taken to a mental hospital and my grandmother was sent away to live with an aunt and uncle whose names she cannot remember. At around age seven, she was dropped off on the street by her aunt and uncle and told to find a “Salvation Army.” Through some turns of events, she found herself in an orphanage until she was around the age of fifteen or sixteen, when she was taken away from there by a woman who needed a girl around her farm to help with chores and such.

The difficulty comes from the fact that, while my grandmother and I have talked about this before, I had never really talked with her with the intention of writing it down, thus many of the details are lost to me (or remembered incorrectly). Now that my grandmother is eighty-eight years old, her memory is not what it used to be. The details are becoming clouded to her. Suddenly, it becomes very clear to me how much I would love to tell her story accurately. In any event, I will ask once more for those of you who have expressed an interest in this to please bear with me. I will be returning to poetry and other sundry miscellany on this blog soon. 

 Peace, wayf

(I have gone ahead and started a "family" blog. I will be posting recollections of growing up in North East Texas along with stories of my family and what-not there. This may be of little interest to most, but if you find yourself compelled to read about my boring family, you can visit "My Roots Are In Red Dirt". I don't know exactly what will come of it, but I have taken a great interest in the subject of my family history of late so I am going to give it a go.)

Just to drop a note here for anyone who may be interested:

 

My grandmother is doing fine and she is at home. I spoke to her yesterday, and she was planning on going to church this morning. Her ankles have been swelling and she has been instructed to keep them propped up, but she sounded like she felt fine otherwise.

 

Thank you all for your kind comments!

 

peace, wayf

 My grandparents on their wedding day.

 

I have been at a serious loss for words of late. Various reasons for this could be attributed, but I won’t go into great detail on most of them here. One thing that is causing my silence is the fact that I have recently received news that my grandmother is in hospital due to congestive heart failure. The last time she went through this, she stopped breathing and had to be revived a couple of times. This time she is much older, and has been very ill for awhile. Though I know that my grandmother is comfortable with the idea of dying I cannot help but be  saddened by the imminence of her passing.

 

My grandmother is a very devout Christian lady. If I have ever been exposed to a person first hand who has “lived their faith”, it was her. In all reality, it was because of my grandmother that I took such an interest in spirituality and religion to begin with. I was always amazed at how simply and economically she lived her life in comparison to everyone around her. She was plain in dress, plain in speech, and still managed to radiate this inner beauty and calm. To say that my grandmother is a remarkably loving and kind person would be the utmost in under statements. She is simply one of the finest examples of loving kindness that I have ever seen.

 

I want to write about what I know of her. I want to explain how this simple and unassuming woman has been a vibrant force and example in the lives of the many people she has touched. I want people to know of the trials she has gone through and how through it all she managed to always have a warm smile on her face and a gentle glimmer in her dark eyes. Through these words, I want those who have never known my grandmother to feel the love and kindness that she exuded to those fortunate enough to have known her. She lived by example, and there have been many who were touched by that example. I don’t like to make heroes out of people, but my grandmother deserves the highest of accolades for a life lived simply and to the best of her means. All in all, I want to give her this one last gift (though she will likely never read it)—a tribute to a person who has lived most of her eighty-seven years as the kind of person I would like to be; loving, kind, humble, and simple.

 

This may take me awhile to complete, because there is a great deal of ground I would like to cover concerning her and her life. If I fail to visit and/or comment on other blogs for awhile, please bear with me; I’ll be back around soon.

 

peace, wayf

 

One gentle morning

As the dew-drops hung heavily

On the weary arms of hemlocks

My burdened and world laden steps

Carried me into the depths of a darkened wood

Up ahead

               —to my left—

                                      a

                                         meandering  

                                    and

                                            brush

                                                       hidden

                                          pathway

Beckoned to me:

“Come! Walk with me, there’s much to see.”

Obediently,

                   mindlessly

                                     my feet trod onto the path

                                          and into the ominous

                                                shadow world

That lay past the boughs of outstretched trees

Through the darkness, a mist

Strange and luminescent

Hung in the air

Glimpses of red and blue plumage

In the corners of wondering eyes

Darted through the heavy green

Of protective branches

Like a mother’s arms shrouding the birds from sight

On the breeze, a whisper

In the air, a word

Unspoken

                 Unheard

                               Experienced?

                              (Yes, that’s it)

                                                    “Follow!”

                          Inexplicably intrepid, my feet marched on

Through the darkness and mist

Toward some unspoken (experienced) goal

Beyond the next curve

                                     Or the next

                       Or the next

             Or the next

                                Or the next

I could hear it singing

But could not see

Over rocks and stones and boulders

It splashed and gurgled

Laughed and raged

Dancing along on its own

                                         meandering

                                                            rock

                                                   laden

                                                          pathway

                                                                       through

                                                                                   the

                                                                         heart

                                                                   of

                                                             the

                                                   dark

                                                           woods

The creek was calling

Me to come and see

It wanted to talk

It had something to say

“Some days, I rush,” said the creek,

“I am swollen and my force is violent

Against the impeding stones in my path.

Other days, I am calm

And the stones hardly know I am here.

But always, whether violently or gently,

I am chipping away at the stones

Molding them to fit my needs

As I make my way back to my home.”

Singing gleefully and meandering along

‘Round stones and trees

The creek taught me this lesson

                                             As it danced

                                                          down toward

                                      the big river

                                                     that would

                                                               carry

                                                           it

                                                             to

                                                        the sea

 

 

peace, wayf

道

To penetrate the depths

To find what lies hidden

Beneath this outer shell

Of contrived emotion

And austere thoughts

 

To find the playfulness

Of a universe laughing

To see the truth

Of Love beneath

 

Destroying the ego

To build up the true self

Of no distinctions

In each moment

 

This is painful

This is unrelenting

 

This body is wracked by

The pains of birth

And the submission to death

Constantly

               Eternally

                            Rising and falling

                 Inhaling

   Exhaling

In each moment

 

I observe a thought

As it drifts

Like a wispy cloud

Passing a mountain

 

The cloud does not move the mountain

The mountain cannot impede the cloud

They co-exist, completely mindless of one another

 

Digging deeper

Eternally struggling to peer through the cloud

To see the full majesty of the mountain

 

To breathe and to be

Constantly

                Eternally

                             Rising and falling

                  Inhaling

    Exhaling

In each moment

 

 

peace, wayf

道