The bookends of my North Idaho Sunday.
Sunrise over Lake Pend Oreille, sunset over Lake Coeur d’ Alene.
A bit of good timing, some persistence and good lighting– but mostly…#JustIdaho.
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Bookends
March 12, 2019Expression Choices
February 14, 2019
Expression and making our voice heard is hard enough but if you throw in a neurological wrench like Parkinson’s disease, a whole host of challenges can arise. Some of us speak softly while others may find it difficult to form words or sentences. Our words are often judged be it vocabulary or elocution. But, real expression goes beyond the boundary of words as the transcendence of understanding relates to us through the mediums of photography, oils, pencil, music, film, video, and a host of other outlets.
How we interact with the world is only limited by our imagination. Through the medium of painting, viewers and appreciators experience the work at a gallery or museum, but this is limited access. Paintings gather deep and powerful feelings and yet limit a very particular sector of the overall population. Whether you are a viewer or creator of art, our understanding of the medium…
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Fences
February 10, 2019Living on the edge of a changing prairie, I connect to this piece.
I curse the pace of this seemingly unneeded expansion. So I tend to photograph them before they are gone…
Bleak
Erosion fences
Replace beautiful trees
In the name of
Progress
In response to Patrick Jennings Pic and a Word Challenge #173: Fences
Empty Cup
February 6, 2019Another wonderful post of written and unwritten words from Robert Okaji…
I wrote this last year, a week after my father died.
Empty Cup
I set down my cup, pour
tea and think this day, too,
may never end.
With what do we quantify love? How does grief measure us? Nine days ago I wrote “My father is dying and I’m sipping a beer.” More words followed, but I did not write them, choosing instead to let them gather where they would – among the darkening fringe at light’s edge, in that space between the shakuhachi’s notes, in the fragrance of spices toasting in the skillet. In unwept tears. Everywhere. Nowhere.
Seven days ago I wrote “My father is dead.” Again, I chose to let the unwritten words gather and linger, allowing them to spread in their own time, attaching themselves to one another, long chains of emptiness dragging through the days.
If experience reflects truth, sorrow’s scroll will unravel slowly…
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Vanishing
February 2, 2019Powerful and achingly written…
Vanishing
Each day
Little by little
Memories evanesce into darkness
Alzheimer’s
Who knows when the fog descended, your intelligence
It hid your secret, until you were at the point of no return
But the storm of your last six weeks could not deny the plaques and tangles,
The snarled mat of mind disintegration, consuming consciousness
I was the one had to take your car keys, the doctors would not help
I was the one that had to hide your guns, the police would not help
Their fear of lawsuit left them impotent
So each day I would check on you, alone
Not knowing if the wind would be coming out of the north or south.
Not knowing what lay behind the closed door in the darkened room
Then came the day that would last forever, what would be the eye of this storm.
Your relentless desperation for a gun, wanting…
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Every Wind (with recording)
January 30, 2019Achingly beautiful work from Robert Okaji…perfectly paired with a Satie tune. I love this.
Every Wind
Every wind loses itself,
no matter where
it starts. I want
a little piece of you.
No.
I want your atmosphere
bundled in a small rice paper packet
and labeled with strings of new rain
and stepping stones.
I want
the grace of silence
blowing in through the cracked
window, disturbing only
the shadows.
Everywhere I go, bits of me linger,
searching for you.
Grief ages one thread at a time,
lurking like an odor
among the lost
things,
or your breath,
still out there,
drifting.
* * *
Music: “Gymnopedie No. 1” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
“Every Wind” first appeared in The Lake in July 2016, and is included in my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second, available for order now via Amazon.com and Finishing Line Press.
Tree
December 20, 2018“I have this thing with trees…”
Tree
where you go
the wind follows
as if no
choice remains but
that of sun
and oak an
attraction such that
limbs curve to
light a certainty
which cautions us
to intrude lest
we lose all
sight and sense
of beauty you
are this tree
Written in the 80s, “Tree” first appeared here in December 2014.
Challenge Yourself
December 9, 2018My Friend Gene Is Rather Extraordinary…
Gene Gurkoff is the founder of Charity Miles (CharityMiles.org) and shared his idea for a monthly self-challenge. I think it’s a great idea.
“This morning, after I finished my run, I joined the local pickup ice hockey game in my neighborhood.
I’ve never played ice hockey before. I can probably count the number of times I’ve ice skated on one hand. (Luckily the rink had skates and a stick for me.)
I was pretty nervous as I put my rental skates on and saw the other guys playing. They all knew what they were doing. As I learned later, a few of them played in college.
I only grew more nervous as I waited my turn in the pickup rotation. These guys were fast, graceful and powerful. Each time they slammed into the boards, my chest grew tighter.
As one guy would signal that he was ready to take a break, another guy would step over the boards to take his place.
They all did that so easily. One leg over, then the other. Like you see on TV.
When it was my turn to take the ice, I hoisted myself over the boards on my stomach like a beached whale.
Then I took two steps on my skates, fell up into the air like a taco, and landed flat on my butt. Just like you’d see in the movies.
I was mortified. And I felt terrible about crashing (literally) their pickup game.
Fortunately, the guys were all very friendly. One of them picked me up. Asked if I was okay, and told me not to worry about it.
Then I got my skates under me, and just played.
Not well. But I played.
I made a few good defensive stops and some good passes. I even had 2 assists. And I almost scored a goal.
It was so much fun! I’m going to try to play every weekend this winter 🙂
Every Saturday last winter, I’d walk past these guys playing hockey. I’d think to myself: That looks like fun. I should try that.
But I never did. Because I was too comfortable in my running routine. And, if I’m being totally honest with myself, I was also scared.
So this week, I decided: F that! (Pardon my french.)
What’s the worst that can happen?
(Aren’t I always spouting off about the importance of getting out of your comfort zone.)
So this morning, I woke up a bit earlier, got in my run, and headed out to the rink.
I’m so glad I did. And I hope you’ll all join me by doing something new, exciting and maybe even a little bit scary too!
Sincerely,
Gene
P.S. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. But as I turn 40 this month, I’m determined to test the hell out of that theory.
My “resolution” for my 40th year is to try something new every month.
A new sport, a new food, a new book, a new workout, a new hobby.
Something new. Every month.
I’m looking for ideas…”
Thankfulness and The Holidays—Stay Tuned!
December 5, 2018
As much as Parkinson’s disease tests my day, it does not define my existence. My illness is a part of me, much like my hair color and my bushy eyebrows. It is always with me, but I do not embrace it– nor do I curse it—it just is.
The luxury of time and slow mild progression, if any, has allowed me to use Parkinson’s as a platform. For over ten years, the three-hundred plus blog posts in my archive of blog posts on www.asoftvoice.com continues to be a resource for information seekers.
What was once a straight-forward blog devoted to Parkinson’s disease encouragement suddenly evolved into a somewhat popular published book in 2012, A Soft Voice in a Noisy World: A Guide to Dealing and Healing with Parkinson’s Disease, became a reality. For a self-published non-fiction book by a first-time author, the book was surprisingly well-received and graciously promoted…
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November hymnal (22)
November 22, 2018More wonderfulness from @jeffschwaner
“Questions without punctuation
Like love poems which will find answers only
When they reach the wrong person
In another language…”
November hymnal (22)
So, after gratitude: the third part of autumn.
Questions without punctuation
Like love poems which will find answers only
When they reach the wrong person
In another language. Then the late slant
Of sun appears to end a sentence
Without words. No hope of early release.
The moon is balanced on the sky’s highest
Tent pole, just above the bear on the bicycle.
But nobody sees the bicycle. Suddenly
In the night’s back third we’re all up there
Clutching the ring to our parachutes
In the diffident cold, like all the stars
And no less courageous for it, our panic
Making a shape for strangers
Holding hands below.
