Saturday, March 12, 2016
Friday, March 11, 2016
Wednesday, March 09, 2016
Valentines Day
Sippican Cottage: February 2016
Will you thumb through the pictures when I am gone?
Will my face, made careworn and tired, be restored in your mind's eye? I
cannot know what it was you ever saw in me. I cannot understand how you
could know that when I said those things all people say to one another,
almost without thinking, that I would really mean them. I said it and
only half believed it myself, uttering such extravagant pledges of
dubious value. Not for want of them being true. But I am unreliable.
There is nothing in this world but to love, and be loved in return. In a
hundred years the most important man you ever met is anonymous. In a
thousand everyone is. We cobbled together a life around the table where
we break the bread, and for a few thousand times we were as one. I saw
your face in our children's faces. You said you saw mine. The universe
passed the plate, and we put in our offering. We are poor, but it's
enough for anyone to give. No man could do more. No man could ask for
more.
I remember when I was lying on the bed like a dead thing, and you came
into the room and thought I was asleep. I wasn't asleep; I was gone from
sight, and sound, and lost in a fever. I lay there in a puddle of sweat
and more -- my very life coming out of every pore, leaving nothing but a
husk where a man used to be.
And you kissed me. I remember.
(La Fête du Baiser)
Valentine's day
Will you thumb through the pictures when I am gone?
Will my face, made careworn and tired, be restored in your mind's eye? I
cannot know what it was you ever saw in me. I cannot understand how you
could know that when I said those things all people say to one another,
almost without thinking, that I would really mean them. I said it and
only half believed it myself, uttering such extravagant pledges of
dubious value. Not for want of them being true. But I am unreliable.
There is nothing in this world but to love, and be loved in return. In a
hundred years the most important man you ever met is anonymous. In a
thousand everyone is. We cobbled together a life around the table where
we break the bread, and for a few thousand times we were as one. I saw
your face in our children's faces. You said you saw mine. The universe
passed the plate, and we put in our offering. We are poor, but it's
enough for anyone to give. No man could do more. No man could ask for
more.
I remember when I was lying on the bed like a dead thing, and you came
into the room and thought I was asleep. I wasn't asleep; I was gone from
sight, and sound, and lost in a fever. I lay there in a puddle of sweat
and more -- my very life coming out of every pore, leaving nothing but a
husk where a man used to be.
And you kissed me. I remember.
(La Fête du Baiser)
Valentine's day
Valentines Day
Sippican Cottage: February 2016
Will you thumb through the pictures when I am gone?
Will my face, made careworn and tired, be restored in your mind's eye? I
cannot know what it was you ever saw in me. I cannot understand how you
could know that when I said those things all people say to one another,
almost without thinking, that I would really mean them. I said it and
only half believed it myself, uttering such extravagant pledges of
dubious value. Not for want of them being true. But I am unreliable.
There is nothing in this world but to love, and be loved in return. In a
hundred years the most important man you ever met is anonymous. In a
thousand everyone is. We cobbled together a life around the table where
we break the bread, and for a few thousand times we were as one. I saw
your face in our children's faces. You said you saw mine. The universe
passed the plate, and we put in our offering. We are poor, but it's
enough for anyone to give. No man could do more. No man could ask for
more.
I remember when I was lying on the bed like a dead thing, and you came
into the room and thought I was asleep. I wasn't asleep; I was gone from
sight, and sound, and lost in a fever. I lay there in a puddle of sweat
and more -- my very life coming out of every pore, leaving nothing but a
husk where a man used to be.
And you kissed me. I remember.
(La Fête du Baiser)
Valentine's day
Will you thumb through the pictures when I am gone?
Will my face, made careworn and tired, be restored in your mind's eye? I
cannot know what it was you ever saw in me. I cannot understand how you
could know that when I said those things all people say to one another,
almost without thinking, that I would really mean them. I said it and
only half believed it myself, uttering such extravagant pledges of
dubious value. Not for want of them being true. But I am unreliable.
There is nothing in this world but to love, and be loved in return. In a
hundred years the most important man you ever met is anonymous. In a
thousand everyone is. We cobbled together a life around the table where
we break the bread, and for a few thousand times we were as one. I saw
your face in our children's faces. You said you saw mine. The universe
passed the plate, and we put in our offering. We are poor, but it's
enough for anyone to give. No man could do more. No man could ask for
more.
I remember when I was lying on the bed like a dead thing, and you came
into the room and thought I was asleep. I wasn't asleep; I was gone from
sight, and sound, and lost in a fever. I lay there in a puddle of sweat
and more -- my very life coming out of every pore, leaving nothing but a
husk where a man used to be.
And you kissed me. I remember.
(La Fête du Baiser)
Valentine's day
Tuesday, March 08, 2016
A Simple, Village Undertaker | A Look Out My Window…header photo of Galway Bay, by Elissa Visotski
A Simple, Village Undertaker | A Look Out My Window…header photo of Galway Bay, by Elissa Visotski
Sometimes I can hardly
believe that the man I see when I look at you, used to be my little boy.
. . Where did the time go? How did the moments turn into years that
disappeared behind us at such great speed?
I am in awe at the changes
that have taken place in you and sometimes it saddens me because that
part of my life is over. Yet, I feel the happiness and pride in having a
son who is all grown up, and nothing can dull or dampen the wonderful
memories I have of you as my little boy.
Even the rough times (who me?),
the trying times and the overwhelming times have sweetened through the
years. Memories of you still bring laughter and delight, a warmness of
heart, and tears to my eyes.
The pride have in you and
the love I feel for you have continued to grow, much like you have. You
are even more precious to me now than you were before.
If you could look inside my
heart and see the love there, if you could feel it’s strength and depth,
then you would know that you have fulfilled my life in ways no other
person ever could. (-Barbara Cage)
My love always, Mom.
Sometimes I can hardly
believe that the man I see when I look at you, used to be my little boy.
. . Where did the time go? How did the moments turn into years that
disappeared behind us at such great speed?
I am in awe at the changes
that have taken place in you and sometimes it saddens me because that
part of my life is over. Yet, I feel the happiness and pride in having a
son who is all grown up, and nothing can dull or dampen the wonderful
memories I have of you as my little boy.
Even the rough times (who me?),
the trying times and the overwhelming times have sweetened through the
years. Memories of you still bring laughter and delight, a warmness of
heart, and tears to my eyes.
The pride have in you and
the love I feel for you have continued to grow, much like you have. You
are even more precious to me now than you were before.
If you could look inside my
heart and see the love there, if you could feel it’s strength and depth,
then you would know that you have fulfilled my life in ways no other
person ever could. (-Barbara Cage)
My love always, Mom.
We Choose You. | A Simple, Village Undertaker
We Choose You. | A Simple, Village Undertaker
adoption
Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone,
but still miraculously my own.
Never forget For a single minute:
You didn’t grow under my heart, but in it.
—Fleur Conkling Heyliger
adoption
Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone,
but still miraculously my own.
Never forget For a single minute:
You didn’t grow under my heart, but in it.
—Fleur Conkling Heyliger
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