Time Left Behind

After redecorating my bedroom, I spent some time enjoying the newness of it.  This poem is the result. The photo is my daughter, Carolyn, at a historic farmhouse.  The white curtains and her resemblance to my own blonde appearance at the same age of 3, inspired me to pair it with this poem.

Carolyn at Living History Farms in 1992

Time Left Behind

by Janet Sobczyk, 2014ⓒ

Freshly painted room

yellow and white

sweeps away old gloom

feels calm and bright.

Sprawled on bed

drinking in peace

my soul feels fed

                           my stress is released.                                                

House is quiet

here all alone

no more inner riot

no more ringing phone.

Lying and gazing

at window nearby

something quite amazing

snares my drowsy eye.

White cotton curtains

on summer’s breeze

dance like they’re flirtin’

pretty as you please.

This mesmerizing waltz

trips a memory

as present day halts

time floats free.

Fade to Gramma's room

on her big bed

slumber comes soon

for little sleepy head.

Sheets so cozy

fresh and clean

from dear Grandma's

ancient washing machine.

Lying and gazing

at window nearby

something quite amazing

snares my young eye.

Curtains, sheer white

                            dancing on breeze                             

swirling in the light

pretty as you please.

"Why is there a nun in this picture?!"

My husband and I don't always see eye to eye.  It may just be that men and women are wired so differently, but this story taught me just how differently he sees things.

I recently purchased a new painting for our living room.  It was a bit brave of me because I didn't get my husband's opinion on it first.  But I loved it and knew it would go well with the furniture and colors in the room.

The picture is of an empty birdcage.  A singing bird sits on a nearby blossoming branch.  In the background there is a dragonfly and a butterfly.  It really spoke to my heart about freedom and empty nests and being joyful.

The trouble was, it had a small flaw in it, so if I took it home to try it out, I couldn't take it back.  It was sold "as is" and not returnable.  My interior design consultant (daughter Andrea) was with me and agreed it was a good find on clearance.  Better yet, the flaw garnered an extra discount on it!

So we bravely took it home and hung it up before hubby got home.  Let's just say he wasn't thrilled with it and asked, "Why birds?  Who likes birds?"  Andrea answered, "Mom does!"  He looked at me as if for the first time, so I pointed to the living room window... to the bird bath and feeder in our front yard.  "Yes, that's why I feed them," I answered him.

I think he might have continued the "discussion," but Andrea piped up, "And I like it, too."  He must have felt out-numbered because he dropped the subject and left the room.

But not for long.  He walked back in a few minutes later and looked at the painting again from across the room.  He stood there with a bewildered look on his face and asked, "But why is there a nun in this picture?!"  Andrea and I looked at him, then at each other.  Then we looked at the painting and back at him.  "Where?" we asked, perplexed.

He walked over and pointed to the blue and black and white butterfly.  As Andrea and I gazed at it we could slowly see the butterfly morph into a thin nun holding her skirt out slightly and her shadow stretching out behind her.  "Oh!  There!" we said in amazement.

Can you see the nun now?  It's as if she is far below the cage and branch.

It still amazes me that he saw an obscure figure before seeing the obvious butterfly.  But somehow it helps me understand our times of miscommunication.  That painting serves as a daily reminder that even though we may seldom see eye to eye, it truly helps to at least try to see the other person's viewpoint.

Post-script:
In my living room redecorating I also moved my grandmother's picture of Jesus of Nazareth (see "The Praying Savior" poem about it and photo that I posted on July 29, 2012). I still have it and may find a different place for it someday.  But I needed a change of scenery, so I put a simple floral wall sculpture in its place.  Tom complained that now we don't have enough religious art in that room.  I had to refrain from pointing out that at least we have the "nun picture."  :)

(See also "Summer Day" poem and photo posted on July 27, 2012 about the picture that I removed to hang this new one.)

A Happy Easter

The kids were all home for Easter.  We planned to go to the early Mass on Sunday.  Getting 7 people through 2 bathrooms by 7:15 am is quite a feat, but we did it!  Once there we could relax and enjoy the music, the flowers, and the golden light shining through colored glass.  

It was a nice Mass and a memorable homily.  Memorable to my grown children because the priest misused the word "selfie", so his message actually stuck in their minds.  Perhaps he was smarter than they thought.

But the highlight of that hour was the family seated in the row in front of us.  There were two calm parents and four young children, 2 girls and 2 boys.  Everyone was dressed in their best Easter outfits and looked happy. Watching them was such a flashback in time.  

I understand now the looks we used to get in church when we had 2 girls and 2 boys (before our fifth came along).  People would watch, with knowing smiles, the quiet antics of our little boys clutching toy cars.  They would compliment our girls in their floral dresses. We must have been a fun distraction for them.

Easter 1998 at Tom's parents' house.

Somehow the chaos of our large family always seemed contained during an hour at church. The kids truly tried to be on their best behavior.  Of course, on the way home all heck could break out, but for that one hour it usually seemed like a slice of heaven to me.

Watching that family in church brought back that feeling of young parenthood.  The memories that came flooding back are precious.  But truly, I cherish the now, with my "kids" so grown up and tall and self-sufficient.  I look forward someday to having grandchildren, but not just yet, because I am happy in this precious moment.  A moment that I know will speed forward as quickly as all the other precious years did. 

Easter 2014 -  I feel really short now!

The Liver Trick (revisited)

My daughter suggested (in her brutally honest way) that I should write more of my family stories in prose instead of poetry.  I can see her point, so I gave it a try.  This is a rewrite of my poem, "The Liver Trick" which was posted on 6-28-12.

The Liver Trick      by Janet Sobczyk, 2014ⓒ

Bev was a busy homemaker, a loving wife and mother, and a good cook.  She enjoyed making nutritious meals for her family.  Her menus were balanced and the four children learned to eat what was put in front of them… Mexican, Italian, Oriental, or American cuisine.  It didn’t seem to matter much to the kids. 

Her husband, Bill, was a picky eater with a severe sweet tooth.  His favorite meals involved meat, potatoes, fruit, and dessert.  He barely tolerated casseroles, didn’t like many vegetables, and absolutely detested liver.  She did make liver a few times when the children were small because “it’s loaded with iron and good for you.” But it always turned out as tough as shoe leather.  Bill couldn’t choke it down.

As the kids grew up and moved away, Bev still kept liver in the freezer, but not for consumption.  She had discovered a much better use for it.

Bill usually came home for lunch.  He often worked late, so lunch together at home was not only cheaper, it was a way to “feed” their marriage.  At the end of the simple meal, while putting his dirty dishes by the sink he would always ask, “What’s for dinner tonight?”  

Bev usually had an idea or a menu to quote.  But once in a while she just wanted to eat out.  And for some unknown reason, she didn’t want to be the one to suggest it.  On those days, she had her answer to his question at the ready.  She would point to the frozen package sitting in the sink to thaw.  “Liver,” she replied.

Bill would sigh and say, “Ok, see you later, dear.”  Then he’d kiss her cheek and head out the door.  

As soon as his truck pulled away, Bev would put the rock-solid package back in the freezer and wait it out.  Before long the phone would ring and Bev would answer it with a smile, feigning surprise.  It was Bill, of course.  “Hey, let’s eat out tonight.  Where would you like to go?”

Bill was never told (and never seemed to guess) that Bev used the same package of liver for many years.  It never had a chance to defrost, doomed to a chronic case of freezer burn.  Yes, Bev was taking a calculated risk.  Bill could have decided not to call.  Who knows?  Maybe he was just playing along.  But from her viewpoint it was a fool-proof plan that worked.  Every time.

Sophie and Lulu

Last spring we noticed changes in our 9-year-old schnauzer-terrier mix, Sophie.  The vet confirmed... our dog was blind.  We heard the best thing to do for a blind dog is to get another dog, so at the end of the summer we did. 

 Lulu, a cockapoo, came into our lives the same way Sophie did, through the Humane Society.  Sophie had been surrendered at 6 months old, but Lulu was a 9-year-old family dog (they think) who was lost and never claimed.  We welcomed her into our home, but it took a little longer for Sophie to warm up to this friendly newcomer. 

 Sophie and Lulu    by Janet Sobczyk, 2013ⓒ

Sophie enjoying the sunshine on our porch.

                   Nine years in a 1-dog home

                   top dog for so long

                   Sophie was slowing down

                   going blind

                   darkness settled in

                   as black as her furry coat.

                   Lulu arrived so happy

                   greeting everyone

                   a smile from ear to ear

                   so perky

                   with a golden coat

                   a sunny disposition.

                   They sniffed

                   circled 'round

                   nose to nose

                   then walked away.

                   Lulu explored the whole house

                   tested the sofa

                   sampled the water bowl

                   ate a treat

                   smelled the dog bed

                   and seemed to like her new home.

                   Sophie tolerated her

                   followed her around

                   treated her like a guest

                   not happy

                   to have her toys touched

                   but just waiting for her to leave.

                   Lulu stayed

                   didn't leave

                   took up space

                   Sophie simmered.

                   After 3 days Sophie snapped

                   she had had enough

                   they were begging for treats 

                   Sophie nipped

                   Lulu yipped and jumped

                   the girls were separated.

                   Lulu learned to show respect

                   followed Sophie's lead

                   let her be first to eat

                   and outside

                   and most important

                   to avoid her fav'rite spots.

                   Lulu stayed

                   and obeyed

                   and quite soon

                   they became pals.

Lulu enjoying her new home.

Spring Cleaning

Mom helping me plant flowers at my own first house- spring 1990.

by Janet Sobczyk, 2013ⓒ

There's something about the first warm days of spring
that makes me want to clear leaves out of flowerbeds,
sweep the porch, clean out the cars, and
wash my windows and curtains.

I don't feel that strongly about those things
at any other time of the year, so why then?
Maybe it's because of my mom,
who set a fine example for years.

Twice a year, spring and fall, without fail,
she would go full speed cleaning the house and cars.
She washed walls, windows, and floors.
Always top to bottom, of course.

All the furniture would be moved, cleaned, rearranged.
The vacuum would probe every corner.
Sometimes tiny treasures were found
under the couch or behind the console TV.

As a child I enjoyed watching her.
Sometimes it was best to stay out of the way
before being enlisted to lend a hand.
But I always enjoyed the finished results.

Rooms that almost glowed.
Everything seemed so fresh and pretty.
I loved the novelty of furniture in new places
and clean windows open to the breeze.

This is the first year that Mom is not spring cleaning.
She talks about wanting to work in the yard
and needing to clean windows.
But she doesn't have to now; she is in "assisted living."

She can't quite adjust to having things done for her.
After so many years of spring and fall cleanings,
she still thinks it needs to be on her to-do list.
I guess a woman's work really is never done.

Monica's First Communion

It's the time of year for many children to be receiving their First Holy Communion and it brings to mind the year that Monica received it. 

For me it was as stressful as a wedding because of her contrariness, so typical of children with Down syndrome.  Would she wear the fancy dress? (Yes, but not be happy about it.)  Would she wear the flower and ribbon veil?  (Absolutely not!)  Would she process down the aisle with her classmates?  (Yes!)  Would she remember what to do when she went up to Communion?  (Sort of.)  Would she stand still for photos or smile?  (Some yes, some no.)  Would she use good manners at her party?  (Only after taking off the fancy dress and getting into comfortable attire.)

Monica with her Godparents

Monica and Peter show off her banner.

Monica and Joe celebrate afterwards.

Monica's First Communion
 by Janet Sobczyk, 2013ⓒ

The pretty white dress,

was too fancy for her taste.

The simple ribbon veil

was not to be tolerated.

But high heeled shoes

made her feel like a queen!

Now, would she perform?

Stand in line?  No way!

Smile for a class photo?

You've got to be kidding!

But add a brother or two

and her smiles were real.

She sang all the songs

and said all the prayers.

When it was finally time

she walked up with Dad

and willingly received Jesus,

her bread of life.

Mass was soon over,

it was time to party! 

But not until the dress

was hung on display,

so she could finally wear

comfy clothes instead.

The next Sunday she

knew just what to do.

No pressure, just joy.

Not standing out,

she was part of the crowd,

quietly happy and proud.