A Glue Book for the mewsings of my heart...

Thursday, December 1, 2016

DEZEMBER 2016

The night is freezing fast,
Tomorrow comes December;
And winterfalls of old
Are with me from the past

Thursday, November 12, 2015

MEMORIES....


"Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears"

Sunday, July 19, 2015

THE YELLOW SHIRT...




Yellow Shirt, The

by: Darliine, Source Unknown

The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away.
"You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!"
"It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object.
The yellow shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois. But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.
The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt! And so the pattern was set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered in under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois. As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attaches, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."
I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the works "I BELONG TO PAT." Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER."
But I didn't stop there. I zigzagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official-looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box.
But, of course, she never mentioned it. Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: "Read John 14: 27-29. I love you both, Mother." That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."
The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

LIFE!



“I think everything in life is art. What you do. How you dress. The way you love someone, and how you talk. Your smile and your personality. What you believe in, and all your dreams. The way you drink your tea. How you decorate your home. Or party. Your grocery list. The food you make. How your writing looks. And the way you feel. Life is art.”
-Helena Bonham Carter.

Friday, May 29, 2015

ROMANCE....

Romance

I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.

I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,
Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom,
And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white
In rainfall at morning and dew fall at night.

And this shall be for music when no one else is near,
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
That only I remember, that only you admire,
Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.

Sunday, November 30, 2014

FEELING SAD....

This is the time of year I have always looked forward to...the quiet gray days of rest.  This year for the first time I am deeply sad inside and out and do not know if I can make it through this season.   Maybe because I am going to be 60 years old this Friday...I just feel so alone...friendless...deeply sad and melancholy is building to the overflow point.  Daily chores are becoming a burden and hard to complete...the drudgery of it all is unbearable...I must raise my eyes upward and have faith in the light in the darkness...I will light a candle and remember those who came before me to shape my character and pray for their strength to uphold me...even tired old things still have some hidden beauty.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

SPIRIT OF THE GLENN

Silver bird flying high
are you safe in heavens sky?
unaware what hides below
the wolves, the hunt, the hate, the woe...
suddenly your journey ends
with broken wings in foreign lands.
silently your feathers lay
in golden wheat and fields of hay...
sunflowers stand guard
and poppies cry
as soft winds blow the solemn lullaby.
though you went without a fight,
you will not fade into the night.
your spirit soars up in a cloud of
unfinished dreams~
will we ever know what it all means?
only the pain of invisible scars 
forever embedded in our hearts?

Friday, June 13, 2014

We Will Remember....

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."

Sunday, February 23, 2014

SPASIBO...

17 days of magic!  we thank you Russia...may we learn to love one another and live in PEACE!

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

WEIHNACHTSTIME....

~WEIHNACHTSTIME~
When the last Kalendersheets
flattern through the winterstreets
and Dezemberwind is blowing
then ist everybody knowing
that it is not allzuweit
she does come the Weihnachtszeit
All the Menschen, Leute,
people flippen out of ihr warm Stüble
run to Kaufhof, Aldi, Mess
make Konsum and business,
kaufen this und jene things
and the church turmglocke rings.
Manche holen sich a Tännchen
when this brennt they cry "Attention".
Rufen for the Feuerwehr
"Please come quick to löschen her!"
Goes the Tännchen off in Rauch
they are standing on the Schlauch.
In the kitchen of the house
mother makes the Christmasschmaus.
She is working, schufts and bakes
the hit is now her Joghurtkeks
and the Opa says als Tester
"We are killed bis to Silvester".
Then he fills the last Glas wine-
yes this is the christmastime!
Day by day does so vergang
and the holy night does come
you can think, you can remember
this is immer in Dezember.
Then the childrenlein are coming
candle-Wachs is abwärts running.
Bing of Crosby Christmas sings
while the Towerglocke rings
and the angels look so fine
well this is the Weihnachtstime.
Baby-eyes are kugelrund
the family feels kerngesund
when unterm Weihnachtsbaum they're hocking
then nothing can them ever shocking.
They are happy, are so fine
this happens in the christmastime.
The animals all in the house
the Hund, the Katz, the bird, the Maus,
are turning round the Weihnachtsstress,
enjoy this as never nie
well they find Kitekat and Chappi
in the Geschenkkarton of Papi.
The family begins to sing
and wieder does a Glöckchen ring.
Zum Song vom grünen Tannenbaum
the Tränen rennen down and down.
bis our mother plötzlich flennt
"The christmas-Gans im Ofen brennt!"
Her nose indeed is very fine,

it is indeed Weihnachtstime!

Friday, August 9, 2013

SEASONS CHANGE...

When Great Trees Fall
Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be and be better. For they existed.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

A VERY VINTAGE SUMMER PLEASE....

"What is one to say about June,
the time of perfect young summer,
the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months,
and with as yet no sign to remind one
that its fresh young beauty will ever fade."

~ Gertrude Jekyll