Happy St Patrick's Day

The Legend Of The Shamrock

I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells,
And if I find the charmed laves, oh, how I'll weave my spells!
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold,
For treasure tires the weary sense, such triumph is but cold;
But I would play the enchanter's part, in casting bliss around --
Oh! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found!
To worth I would give honor! -- I'd dry the mourner's tears,
And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years,
And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown cold,
Should meet again - like parted streams - and mingle as of old;
Oh! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around,
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found!
The heart that had been mourning o'er vanish'd dreams of love,
Should see them all returning - like Noah's faithful dove,
And Hope should launch her bless'd bark on Sorrow's darkening sea,
And Misery's children have an ark, and saved from sinking be;
Oh! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around,
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found!

--Samuel Lover

It's A Fine Day (somewhere)

I woke up on this St Patrick's Day to news that four teenagers from my town had been killed by a drunken driver. Our town is not so large that a tragedy of this kind will fade quickly from memory. I pray for the families so terribly affected by this outrage.

It's fair here today. The house windows are opened, and the furnace has been put to nap. My companions rest in sleep as the sun shines on their relaxed bodies. I know they'll soon want to go out into the fair day and play a bit in the yard.

My neighbors across the way have been caring for a disabled adult child for as long as we've known them. Recently, there has been an increase of activity in and out of their home. Nurses in white, nurses in blue, paramedics aboard a city fire engine; and private ambulances stop for short, and intermittent times almost on a daily basis. It's so easy to read the signs of a very hard circumstance.

Our dear neighbor on the other side of our fenceline, has been assalted by consequential maladies making her infirm. When we speak, I'm angered that her doctors can't seem to find the right treatment to make her whole again. She needs an advocate walking by her side. All I can do is pray for her.

I find it amazing, as I age, that I've taken back and embraced this tenet of Faith given to me in my youth: prayer.

Waiting on Spring

A Waft Of Perfume

A waft of perfume from a bit of lace
Moved lightly by a passing woman’s hand;
And on the common street, a sensuous grace
Shone suddenly from some lost time and land.
Tall structures changed to dome and parapet;
The stern-faced Church an oracle became;
In sheltered alcoves marble busts were set;
And on the wall frail Lais wrote her name.
Phryne before her judges stood at bay,
Fearing the rigour of Athenian laws;
Till Hyperides tore her cloak away,
And bade her splendid beauty plead its cause.
Great Alexander walking in the dusk,
Dreamed of the hour when Greek with Greek should meet;
From Thais’ window attar breathed, and musk:
His footsteps went no farther down the street.
Faint and more faint the pungent perfume grew;
Of wall and parapet remained no trace.
Temple and statue vanished from the view:
The city street again was commonplace.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

My Companions & Me

For the mostpart, the daylight hours are quiet for my companions and me. We sit shuttered inside the house waiting for this mean winter to end. Often times, no, many times during the day we hear the urgent sirens of ambulances racing down the nearby main street. A major trauma center hospital is only two miles south of where we live, so it is the choice for many of our neighbors when faced with physical catastrophes. Each time I hear an ambulance wail, I'm reminded that I'm not a kid anymore. And my neighbors, moreso, for most of them are years older than me. Simply put, our town is very grey and wrinkled; slow-of-step, and easy to tire. One of my mothers' favorite bywords was: "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." It's amazing how comments such as this don't have any meaning until put into the proper context. Mom, I understand.

My companions are dear to me. I've never heard them complain about anything they have to deal with day in, day out. If they want my attention they'll seek me out, and stay close by to me until I decide I have time for them. They like most of the music I listen to, as long as its not played too loud. They don't watch television, but are okay with me whiling away hours doing so. But I know they don't like the television news or televised Tiger games; because both of these tend to raise my blood pressure and cause me to start yelling out loud. That scares them. So one leaves the room, and the other cowers by my wifes' side until my ranting has subsided. I keep trying to be better about this, but so far nature wills out.

They like to eat. I like to eat. So we together eat. Alot. The big white box in the kitchen is our tabernacle. The three of us cherish it and even fawn over it, waiting for the next great taste to be liberated from behind its locked door.

It's been said that no matter how crowded and confused and chaotic your life becomes, God always provides a place in your heart to take in more beings to love. My two companions prove that saying. I'm grateful for you Zoe. I'm grateful for you Dohzia. I'm mightily glad that God lets me share so much of both of your lives.