#life

LETTERS TO THE FUTURE-LETTERS FROM THE PAST

 

 We began an new tradition this Christmas…

each family member wrote a letter to our future self…

which Deborah and I collected and will keep safely on a shelf…

 

The only directions were to think about the year ahead…and where we’d like to be…

Things we’d like to accomplish…placed we’d like to go…

things we'd like to see.

 

To write our thoughts on this coming year …any experiences we hope to amass…

to be opened next Christmas…at which…time it becomes a letter from our past. 

 

Our letter to our future self could be long or short…it could be big or small…

and if anyone was hesitant…they need not participate at all.

 

There is a simple beauty to this idea…as time moves on so fast…

to take a moment to gaze into the future…before that future becomes the past.

 

Of course none of us know what the future holds…how in the end Destiny will route it

but once a year, I think, it’s kind of nice to think about it.

 

Come next Christmas when it’s opened…when another year’s flown by

we’ll read what we wrote to ourselves…perhaps we’ll laugh…perhaps we’ll cry…

 

Perhaps we’ll learn a little about ourselves…and we’ll be a little more prepared…when

we sit down next Christmas…and write to future selves again.

 

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LOVE ALL THE NAMES I HAVE BEEN CALLED

 

Santa Claus, Jim, Dad, PopPop…I admit I was a bit enthralled…

when in the course of a single day…all these names I had been called.

 

And it brings a smile to my face…it makes me sigh…it makes me glad…

to look back on my life at all the names that I have had.

 

While still in my mother’s womb…Baby was the first in a lifetime of names.

Once born, my parents, using a name out of the Bible decided to christen me with James.

 

I’ve been called JOY (my initials), Otto (my middle name), Elf (I prefer not to think of him)

I’ve been called Yerman, Yermy, Jimmy…but most people know me as Jim.

 

I had one uncle…who couldn’t remember my name…who would always call me Sonny…

And, apparently, I’m the only on in my family whoever calls me Funny.

 

I’ve been called a boy, a teenager, a man, a students, a teacher…a friend…

I’ve even performed a few marriages as…you guessed it…a Reverend.

 

I’ve been called boyfriend, husband, father…my grown children still call me Dad

I’ve been called Mr., and sir, and some names that have made me angry or sad.

 

Which brings me back to yesterday…a day that gave me pause…

When in one 24 hour period I was called Jim, Dad, PopPop…and Santa Claus. 

 

All my different names have contributed to the continuous creation of Me….

each title carries its own meaning…each name evokes its own memory.

 

I cherish all the names I’ve been given…and I love how they’re not all the same…

I imagine that’s why I smile…when I hear someone call out my name.

 

It’s a wonderful way to evaluate a life…a beautiful way to keep enthralled….

As I sit back, smile…and think about…all the names I have been called.

 
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1O YEARS LATER...STILL THE SAME

 

 

As we head out of the mountains….far ahead of the winter snow…

I’m revisiting of a poem I wrote at a similar time and place…exactly 10 years ago:

 

When we first arrived in October…immediately we slowed

our attention focused on the fallen leaves that were carpeting the road.

 

Stepping outside we noticed the trees seemed much brighter than before

as if hinting at the coming miracles and wonders they had in store.

 

Each morning we were greeted by the sun and a cool October breeze.

Our eyes darted from one color to the next ‘neath the changing kaleidoscope of trees

 

We found it nearly impossible to focus on one particular hue

from the oranges, yellows and reds of the trees to the heavens dressed in blue.

 

We were honored to be a witness at the season of Autumn’s birth.

then quickly we felt the evanescence as more and more leaves rained down upon the Earth. 

 

It was wonderful to travel to the mountains and among the leaves to roam

but time, as she moves ever onward is calling us back home.

 

So we leave our mountains with smiles on our faces 

with new memories fresh inside our heads

ready for our next adventure…like two 70 year old newlyweds.

 

It’s true we live our life in moments…in a life that constantly rearranges

which means it’s up to us to find our happiness as the world around us changes.

 

Yes, life is one transformation after another…that’s what I perceive

seems to me (just as we did 10 years ago)

we have a lot in common with the changing of the leaves.

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OUR COLLECTIONS

 

As more and more leaves are beginning to fall meaning Autumn is coming to an end

we remembered we promised to bring a collection of leaves back to Florida

to the children of our neighbors and friends.

 

So we’re catching fresh leaves as they fall…hoping we’ll make the right selection…

that we’ll find the perfect leaves…in a rainbow of colors…

for an Autumn leaf collection….

 

We couldn’t help thinking back to when we were young, innocent and protected

at all the things that amazed us back then…and all the things that we collected.

 

We collected dolls and rocks and bugs we’d find crawling in our yards…

seashells, coins, action figures…marbles and baseball cards…

 

But of all the collections we amassed…that our imagination and knowledge fed

the most important things we as children collected…were the words our parents said…

 

Their words of compassion…words of joy…

the way they said our name

their words of love…their words of hate…

we collected them all the same.

 

What made these words important…

the words our parents’ were choosing…

is that we caught and we collected them…

and they became the words that we’re now using.

 

So we are happy to add our assortment of leaves

gifted to us from the trees this Fall…

to their collection of words from their family and friends…

their most important collection of all.

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NO TWO ARE IDENTICAL

 

One thing that strikes you when you’re out in nature…

(that, once you know it helps you to proclaim,)

is how, of all the wonders you are seeing…no two are ever the same.

 

They may share similarities…but it’s part of nature’s mystique 

that everything she has created is individual and unique.

 

No two stars are identical…no two planets…

no two clouds that float upon the breeze… 

no two flowers,…no two rivers,…no two mountains…no two trees.

 

The fact that no two of anything are identical…

once our eyes have been taught to see

is why we relish in their individual beauty and their overall diversity.

 

No two waves upon the ocean are identical…

no two fish…no two mammals…and let us not forget

no two apples…no two oranges…no two sunrises…no two sunsets.

 

The more you walk in nature…the more gratitude and love you’re feeling

knowing that amazing diversity is what makes our world so beautiful…

and our nature so appealing.

 

What strikes you when you walk among the people…also a part of nature

that once you see it helps you to proclaim….

of all the people you are seeing…no two people are the same.

 

This fact, instead of dividing us, should unite us…once our eyes are taught to see

we should relish in each one’s beauty…and our world’s diversity.

 

If only we’d take the time to understand nature’s people

I believe more gratitude and love we would be feeling…

knowing it is our amazing uniqueness that makes us all so beautiful

and our nature so appealing.

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A DIFFERENT KIND OF MORNING WALK

 

My normal walk this morning wasn’t as normal as it seemed…

which made me question if I was truly walking…or walking in a dream.

 

As I stepped into the morning…an icy chillness filled the air

and I began to see things I don’t normally see…things I knew could not be there.

 

To the left of me I saw my parents…I didn’t understand 

what my parents doing here…and why were they holding hands?

 

Certainly it was unexpected….my Mom and Dad to meet

but there were people as far as I could see up and down the street.

 

I saw Deborah’s parents and Chrissy, a friend who died too young…

and other people we’ve lost along the way…

Chrissy was holding our old dog Whitman, 

another sign that this was not just any other day

 

With every step I took…the farther I moved away from my front door

everyone grew younger…then faded away and I saw faces I’ve never seen before.

 

Just like Mom and Dad…everyone was smiling and waving in the chilly morning breeze.

When I looked up the stars were twinkling, the moon was smiling…

Did I hear laughter in the trees?

 

When I turned for home…as the second half of my morning walk I started to traverse…

everything I just explained…began to happen…in reverse.

 

I lingered for a moment… outside of my front door…

to visit with my parents, Deborah’s parents, Chrissy and Whitman a little more.

 

Once inside the door I quickly turned around, and stepped out on the lawn

though I searched in all directions…but…everyone was gone….

 

Or were they?…perhaps this was just their way of telling me…wherever I go in life….

as I compose my daily rhyme…

The very people I’ve thought I’ve lost along the way…

have been with me all the time.

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OOPS

 

 

The reality of mistakes…and I see no reason to doubt it 

is they are part of being human…make no mistake about it.

 

When it comes to making mistakes…no one is immune

If you haven’t made one yet…no worries…

you’re bound to make one soon.

 

The beauty of a mistake is once it has been made

once it has entered through our front door…

If we learn from it…

there’s a possibility we’ll be a better person…

than the one we were before

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OUR OWN FAIRY TALE

 

It is amazing…oftentimes to our wonder and delight…sometimes to our dismay

how we are the authors of our fairytales…the protagonists in our play. 

 

How ‘neath the different colors of our covers…

we…as author…or playwright

in a multitude of languages…complete a chapter every night.

 

Our parents compose the first few chapters until such a time as when

our fairytale gets interesting…and we control the pen.

 

For we find when our story crisscrosses other stories…other places…other names

how, though our stories share similar moments…no two stories are the same.

 

The beauty of our fairytale is how every day it lengthens and expands

meaning no matter what we wrote the day before…the next chapter is in our hands.

 

Over time we find our spines may sag a little…our covers start to fade

our pages may discolor…our binding become frayed.

 

but, despite the inevitable ravages of time which on every book will take its toll,

we hope our fairy tale will have a happy ending and never lose its heart…and soul.

 

Besides, anyone who’s wise…any bibliophile…or book lover

knows it’s never a good idea to judge a book…based solely on its cover.

 

knows every story’s different…how life seldom goes the way we planned

how every book has value…and how NO book should ever be banned.

 

I suppose the best we can hope for is to learn from our mistakes

and hope, in our book, they’re never repeated…

and that people will smile as they read our chapters…

and…once our fairy tale is completed.

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HIS DAD AND BASEBALL

 

 His father loved baseball…he watched his favorite team religiously…

“It’s a lot like life.” He’d say. “Come and watch a game with me.”

 

“When it’s your turn to bat,” he’ said, “when you step up to the plate…

You hope to do your best….but you never know your fate.”

 

“You’re ready…and a little nervous…as you hear the catcher pound his mitt.

You don’t know if you will make an out…or…if you will get a hit.”

 

“Sometime you will get a hit…other times you’ll make an out…

for that, my son, is what baseball…and life is all about.”

 

“But whether you get a hit…or make an out…either way…

you are determined…you can’t wait…

until the next time you get another chance…to step up to the plate.”

 

“The great thing about baseball and life,” he smiled, “is no matter how you do…

every time you step up to bat…I will be rooting for you.”

 

As he and his dad watched his daughter and his granddaughter, 

play baseball the other day…from high atop the stands…

they cheered her every move…they were her biggest fans.

 

As he watched his dad sitting there…enjoying every facet to the game…

his mind drifted back to when he was younger…

and how he thought some of his advice was pretty lame.

 

Then remembering watching baseball with him…

and his dad’s words…words he’ll never forget….

He thought to himself,

“Isn’t it funny how Dad seems so much smarter…

the older that I get.”

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