Life Does Go On

Some days, I feel depressed. This is generally triggered by doing something that I almost immediately regret. Maybe something major, that impacts a relationship; maybe something minor, that is easily resolved; maybe just something dumb, that really doesn't matter at all; maybe something I said that came out wrong. Sometimes my actions in a dream are enough to trigger the heavy despair.

I maintain a mental list of these failings. Whenever there's something new, I pull up the list, review it, and add the new offense. Sometimes I manage to drop an item from the list, but there are some that have been there for years, always lurking at the back of my mind, ready to appear and taunt.

Pulling out the list and rehashing my faults is, of course, a truly bad idea. It tends to throw me into that depressive funk, and it's hard to climb back out. My good hubby treads softly whenever this happens, and I do my best not to blame him for my own negative self-talk.

I went through this a few weeks ago. I don't need to relate what triggered it, but I was feeling pretty low. Finally, I hopped into the car with Bernie, and drove over to Kleinstuck Preserve. Walking there, I at last found some peace, and could believe that most things can be fixed; life does go on; and I can keep trying to be the person I hope to be.

A haiku for that day:

I rehearse my faults, But the woods calm and remind: You can try again.

That day in Kleinstuck Preserve

It's All Very Bleak

It's been ten days since the murder of nineteen children and two teachers, and the wounding of seventeen others, in Uvalde, Texas. Since then, there have been twenty more mass shootings (according to the Gun Violence Archive). In these additional shootings, seventeen persons were killed, and eighty-eight were injured. (In those ten days, if you count all shootings, and not just mass shootings, 499 persons have died, and 115 have been injured). 

That's a lot of people. Once again, I ask myself: why do people need guns? I understand that some are used for hunting. Some are used for target shooting. And maybe some are for self-defense (although having those guns in your home is more likely to increase the chance for accidental injury, homicide, and suicide than to protect you.)

Guns are really good at killing people - especially guns developed for the military, and guns modeled after them. Why does anyone need a weapon like that? I just can't wrap my head around it. 

I've realized that calling for "common sense gun legislation" is a non-starter. The immediate reaction seems to be "don't touch my guns" - even after the deaths of all those children in Uvalde, and the children who die from accidental shootings, and the children who die from domestic violence, and the children who die of suicide because a gun was handy. Accordingly, I'm trying to reframe my requests to be more specific, such as these from Moms Demand Action: background checks on all gun sales; red flag laws; safe storage laws.

Another outcome of this shooting is that I've lost confidence that we can rely on the police. It is painful to write those words; I've always had respect for police officers, and my own experiences with them have only been positive. But the officers in Uvalde appear to have done little to stop the gunman. It appears that they waited outside the classroom, doing nothing, for an hour. Meanwhile, children were calling 911, begging for help. I don't understand how these officers could just stand there, seemingly doing nothing. It breaks my heart. I find myself rehearsing in my mind all the stories of police (mis)behavior that I've heard, and I wonder: are bad cops actually the rule, and good cops the exception?

It is all very bleak, so here's a bleak haiku:

His anger aims the
gun. Children fall to the floor;
good guys wait outside.

Composite illustration of the 21 victims (Family handouts/Reuters)

Michigan's Spring Green

Spring in Michigan comes slowly. For a while, the trees wear just a hint of green, their leaves just starting to appear. Gradually they relax and open, until one day, we're out walking and discover a canopy of green.

Here's a haiku celebrating this annual miracle:

Softly, quietly, leaves unfurl, and we see trees waving their new green.

Kleinstuck Preserve

Let's Listen and Hear Each Other

 I recently read a quote by David Augsburger:

Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable. [fn1]

Such good advice. This requires that I set down my phone, my book, my knitting, my camera - whatever is claiming my attention - so that I can properly listen to and hear another person.

I wrote a haiku using this quote as a prompt:

Will you listen when
I tell my story? Will you
hear my joy and pain?

Just listen. Just hear. That's all.

Even beagle ears are for hearing

fn1: From his book, Caring Enough to Hear and Be Heard (Ventura, CA: Regal Books, 1983)

Haiku Challenge, Part Three

Here are the last of my haiku for this April challenge. With that, the thirty-day challenge is complete. Maybe I'll continue with weekly haiku, but no promises!

April 23 - a weakness

A leaning tree will someday fall. Without support, you will break as well.

April 24 - a hope you have for your life I changed one word in this, from what I posted on Instagram, where "might" was "will." I also decided to capitalize "She." Big changes, I know.

@HumanHaiku shared this one (the original version, of course).

I don’t expect great things, but hope people might say, “She was always kind.”

April 25 - something you miss In the summer, we kids would gather at the Banks’s, to play roundsies in their front yard. This was a version of kickball, in which players rotated through the fielding positions and the kicking position. It was ideal since we never could muster enough players to field two teams. It was also disorganized and chaotic, and was, according to Mom, the reason Gene Banks gave up on trying to grow a decent lawn.

The evening game was for fathers, and our older brothers. In reality, this probably happened just once, but it looms large in my memory. I remember cheers for a good hit, and discussions of the latest Pirates game. I remember my father drinking from a bottle of beer, a rarity. I remember showing my mom, and Marge Banks, that I’d figured out how to tie my shoes. It's all a fond memory, a small bit of neighborhood community.

Summer days were for kickball. Nights were for baseball, for watching our dads.

April 26 - anger

This is the version I submitted:

I soon regret my angry words. Can I instead learn to practice peace?

But I prefer this version, with its slight modification; the words (intonation? emphasis?) sound better to my ears.

I soon regret my angry words. Can I learn to practice peace instead?

April 27 - something that delights you

The trees are spring green with buds, tiny promises of splendor and joy.

Spring green in one of our trees

April 28 - a hard thing you're going through

I weigh my struggles; against the world’s challenges, mine appear so small.

April 29 - peace
I was not happy with this, but it was late in the day, so I called it done, even though I cringe every time I read it.

The world can’t promise peace; for that, we must turn to  a higher power.

April 30 - who you are as a human, now 
I wrote so many versions of this! I had woken in a bad mood, and the haiku reflected that, ha ha. I finally came up with this, which was not as dramatically dark as the others.

Can an old dog learn new tricks? I think so; with age come new adventures

Our Bernie, enjoying his adventures

Haiku Challenge, Part Two

More of the April Haiku. I had planned to post this on the 20th (its being a round number), but life happens... Anyway, here are my latest and greatest (and not-so-greatest).

April 12 - an accomplishment
This haiku describes a bit of music for trumpet. The music is the prelude to Domenico Zipoli's Suite in F Major. I first heard this in the early 1980s, on an LP I bought through a record-of-the-month club. The version I have now is on a CD, "Concertos pour trompette," and is played by Maurice André. 

That trumpeter’s song - the notes climb high, higher, while my heart holds its breath.

Here's a recording of that Prelude - enjoy! 

April 13 - when you feel most alive

Simple food, cooked for friends and family. We eat and enjoy together.

April 14 - grief

I long to chat with Mom again, share that funny story, fix the past.

April 15 - a place you feel safe @HumanHaiku shared this one. It's one of my favorites, too.

This home is kindness and love, trust and acceptance. Here, come as you are.

April 16 - something you love about yourself 

I’ve learned the folly of impatience. Wait and watch are better signposts.

April 17 - an emotion you've felt today Easter Sunday

His disciples shared Sorrow, Amazement, and Joy. Today, we sing Hope.

April 18 - what's happening in the world Woke up to a news report of multiple shootings over the weekend

More shootings today. Ten people, nine, ten more— But guns will protect us.

April 19 - what inspires you @HumanHaiku shared this one, too.

Some ideas don’t come til you begin, til you just put pen to paper.

April 20 - fear

Meeting the stranger, you’re cautious — but be assured: Love can displace fear.

April 21 - where you want to escape to

In the woods, safe from weather, a quiet spot to read, paths to wander

April 22 - an influential person in your life I remember doing math homework with my dad. He kept observing that I needed to write my numbers more neatly, or I'd add the wrong columns and get invalid results. I recently was tutoring a student in math, and found myself encouraging him to write his numbers more neatly...

He put worms on hooks, wanted tidy math papers, loved with kind patience.

Eight more days...! 

Bernie reminds you that it's
National Beagle Day

Haiku Challenge

I am fond of haiku as a poetic form. The Encyclopedia Britannica describes haiku as the "art of expressing much and suggesting more in the fewest possible words" [fn1]. The ability to convey an idea or image in three brief lines, following a (fairly) strict format, seems magical. For instance, here is a haiku by Matsuo Bashō, who wrote in the 1600s:

On a withered branch
A crow has alighted;
Nightfall in autumn.

I've occasionally tried my hand at creating haiku, but have never shared my poems (and I'm not sure I could find them now - probably they're stuck on a hard drive somewhere). I follow @HumanHaiku on Instagram, and for the month of April (National Poetry Month), they've created daily haiku prompts. I've committed to follow those prompts, and write a haiku each day.

So far, it's been an interesting process. I'm very happy with some of my haiku, and less than thrilled with others. I've never been good at anything that requires introspection, so that's been a real challenge. But, challenges notwithstanding, here are the haiku I've written so far.

April 1 - who you are as a human now Ugh. This is my least favorite of my haiku, but they do get better.

Family and friends, yarn and books, writing, walks with my thoughts and the dog.

April 2 - your childhood When I was twelve, my family was investigating a new church. On a Sunday in August, my mother and I attended our first service at this church. The chapel was simple - no stained glass windows here. In fact, with no air conditioning, the windows were probably open to the sounds of traffic outside. @HumanHaiku shared this one.

A new church, with Mom. Summer light thru windows. Hymns, prayers, welcome. We’re home.

April 3 - your teenage years I wasn't brave enough to actually address my teens! Instead, I wrote about my perspective as an adult, looking back.

Laughing in the food aisle, as songs my teen self lived by play overhead.

April 4 - becoming an adult

I’ve finally learned what should be said, and what ought to be left unsaid.

April 5 - your family Mom was a skilled pianist, but felt that we kids should learn piano from someone else. So she taught other kids, after school, so that we four could take our lessons (piano and other instruments - trumpet, flute, clarinet, violin) elsewhere.

Mom taught piano, then turned around and paid for our music lessons.

April 6 - change

Leaf-crunch yields to snow; snow muds into daffodils. We trust the seasons.

April 7 - your community I was pretty happy with this one.

We break bread, share joy, bear each other’s grief, and so build community.

April 8 - your favorite nature spot

The beagle and I, surrounded by trees, pause for the spring peepers’ song

April 9 - failure Mary Oliver's poem, "The Summer Day," includes the lines "Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?" [fn2] My haiku is a bit of a nod to her language there. I sometimes look at my friends - here a CFO, there a published scholar, this one a mother who started a new career when the little ones grew up - and wonder what they think of my small and quiet accomplishments. Perhaps they shake their heads, but I am content. Among the haiku I've written so far, this is one of my favorites. @HumanHaiku shared this one.

If I am content with my small and quiet life, who’s to say that’s wrong?

April 10 - something you’re learning As I was preparing to retire from my programming job, I imagined myself tidying our home, organizing this room, deep cleaning another. Hah! Why did I think I was suddenly going to morph into this new person?

Before, I couldn’t find time for chores. Now I’ve learned to simply ignore them.

April 11 - something you know to be true

Winter has beauty, but when the cold outlasts the snow, Spring will return.

Tomorrow's prompt is "an accomplishment." Yikes.

fn1: See https://www.britannica.com/art/haiku

fn2: See https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/poet-laureate/poet-laureate-projects/poetry-180/all-poems/item/poetry-180-133/the-summer-day/