07 Oct 2008
My name is Ella. I’m 37 years old, a native Swiss, a widow for one year, a horticulturist, no children except for a honey brown and white pawed cat named Wilber, and a one-eye orange clown fish named Henry. I reside in the Willamette Valley, my home now for eleven years. I’m not sure where to start, its odd to write about oneself and unearth thoughts as if spreading out a bolt of new cotton cloth. I read an article one day about free-writing and how it is a way to release held back emotions for those grieving. Grieving, I hate that word or any word that makes me think about death, especially Andrea’s death. I can’t keep it inside anymore, my head talks so much I feel as if there are three people fighting to tell their story, my cortex fledging into combustion. My routine has become rote. I wake up each day, tired from a restless sleep and want to linger while my eyes hatch to the morning. I rise quickly so as not to be tempted to hit the snooze button. I slip into Andreas’ red and brown striped pullover wool sweater, close my eyes and take in the scent, his scent. In over a year since Andreas’ death his scent is still abundant. I can’t bear to wash the sweater, less the scent disappear. Therefore, I only slip into it in the morning to wear from our bed to the bathroom. I shower, dress, eat breakfast of dry oatmeal topped with fresh fruit, one spoon of Trader Joe's organic crunchy peanut butter and a Lindt dark chocolate. The Lindt (Lindt & Sprüngli in Switzerland) chocolate was a tradition Andreas started shortly after we first met in Murren, Switzerland 27 years ago. It was 1981, I was ten, Andreas was twelve. His family owned the only Backeri in Murren. My parents and eight year old brother Marcel moved from Wengen to Murren in early Summer to manage The Edelweiss, a small hotel facing the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau. Unbeknownst to me, the magnificent Alps, so daring and blazing, would eventually have a part to why we moved to America.
26 Sep 2008
When your heart bleeds
Of a loved one gone
When your heart bleeds
And life seems to wan.
I will cry for you
When pain leads the way
Aged body kicking back
When pain leads the way
Day to day on attack
I will fight for you
When you feel a lonely spot
Your bleak soul spilling out
When you feel a lonely spot
And just what to shout
I will hope for you
I will cry for you
I will fight for you
I will hope for you
I will, for you.......
19 Sep 2008
I hear your soft whispers,
wake to the warmth of you next to me,
arms and bodies enclose each other.
In My Dreams….
Childhood memory beckons,
scent of Carmel Quickies lingers,
taste of sweet soft warm dough bursts.
In My Dreams…..
Art encapsulates my day,
writing, photography, painting and stones,
imagination escapes with rowdy abandon.
In My Dreams…..
I’m with you, in friendship, in love, in trust,
discovery awakens each sunrise,
loyalty and commitment sacred to sunset.
In My Dreams….
The world is an open community,
no hate or prejudice transpires,
souls teach, share and accept.
In My Dreams….
The mind holds no negative play,
rather, falls through a sieve,
leaving room for self acceptance.
In My Dreams….
Nature is my abundant sanctuary,
priceless, more so then the Mona Lisa,
its smile a vision in every direction.
30 Jul 2008
It was a gift – a treasure hunt of sorts. The ceiling began to drip. First, just droplets like the teasing of a spring rain. Then it began to swell and bubble. The handyman was called, swiftly he came. Frank was used to panicky customers, saw my worrisome look and took it in stride. Frank’s worn leather work belt strapped snug around his waist; he began the inspection.
I went about my work and stopped when I heard him gasp. Hastily arriving at the opening of the room, I stood there as if sneaking a peek through a secret hole in the wall. Frank's face grew puzzled when he held 'it' in his large calloused hand. He examined the inside and outside of his find as if it were an ancient relict. In retrospect, it was in some sort of odd way. His lips curled up and drew a smile. I wondered if the vintage black ladies hat brought back a memory of long ago. Startled, Frank noticed me watching him as he laid the hat down upon my desk.
Together we teetered through the possibilities of why the hat was hidden safely away in the ceiling. Was this the lone treasure? Where did it come from? Who was the owner? Was it someone’s Sunday attire? Did a child steal it? Did a husband hide an unnecessary purchase or find a lover’s gift? Or, was it hidden to protect a long ago secret? I held the hat, looking at it as if it belonged to my Grandmother, stately she was.
The vintage black straw hat was in impeccable condition. It saw no aging, no wrinkles, no sagging. The brim three inches wide, the height slightly more. The straw was a bit shiny and one could imagine a sheer band and beads dressing it up. The cream label, “Worthington Hats” was of silk with red stitching notating the year 1936.
Its mystery enveloped me. I closed my eyes, transported myself back to an era so tempting to imagine. I took in the scent of it and let my fingers roam. I laid it upon my head, imagined myself entering a Ball, the room filled with important people. It was a flicker of thought. Back I went, to 2007.
Tomorrow I’d go to the courthouse, check the county records, the newspapers and talk to neighbors. Surely someone would know who lived long ago in the white porched farmhouse. Could I find a name and a face? What then after that?
In the evening I pondered the find and decided to sleep upon it.
Morning came. It became clear I decided, the treasure found would remain hidden safe in the same spot. But first, my pen found its way to paper and I began the story about The Worthington Hat. It once was a famous hat…….
23 Jul 2008
Stars ready to play
Crickets chattering
Fireflies glowing
Cows pacing to pasture
Goats vying for attention
Cats playing tag
Hay freshly cut
Garden ready to burst
Flowers in their glory
Harmonica dancing notes
Quiet rocking
Aged hands holding
23 Jul 2008
A sky trying to wake up
Air after a thunder storm
A heartache that won’t go away
Jumping into a cloud and vanishing
The breeze of sheets on a clothes line
Lavender Tea
A sparkle of childhood
One second short of a track record
A pair of jeans on its last stitch
A child’s lost hope
Chills of the first snowfall
Disappointment
A warm ocean
A last ice cream lick that fell
23 Jul 2008
This is the sound of slavery,
the Mississippi River – hot, humid,
sweat beads glistening from brown skin,
mosquitoes finding refuge.
The river raft, weathered with seasons
filled with generations,
glides quietly.
Grandma on her final journey,
white daisies adorn the raft,
pure, sacred.
We, all dressed in white cloth,
starched from the sweltering hot globe.
Grandma's naked feet stare up to the sky,
the soles calloused and wrinkled
tell stories now quieted.
Her soft small hands
folded gently across her body.
Me, never again to see the
up and down movement of breathing.
This is our last meeting and
I stare at her,
I stare at her,
I stare at her,
then, touch her hand, one last time.
13 May 2008
It’s the same story threaded through time, the heat of it not as hot but the memory forever present. I was thirteen, so free and wild, still discovering childhood yet sneaking a peek into adolescent. I was comfortable being alone in my own world and lingering in my youthful imagination.
Our home was rural and my walk to school was barely one mile. It was my time of solace to employ my dreams and wonder aimlessly through the woods. I would hear yellow pine birds, brown bunnies rustle through the pitch of soft ground cover, and Sunnybrook Creek babble along. My favorite spot was a short distance from the main path along the creek. There stood a cedar tree so old its trunk was as round as a covered wagon wheel, the reddish bark like field furrows. I imagined its birth and how it weathered life. Its needles almost touched the ground and it provided a safe haven when the rains would come.
Early one Spring day I found my spot along the creek, my journal in hand to write yet another story. I loved my time alone to sit along the creek and pen thoughts as they dribbled out. I had known for as long as I could remember that I would be a writer for it was the one thing that freed me. The sky began to blacken, the droplets grew in size and the rumbles of sky bellowed out. I ran for cover under the cedar tree. Not long though I heard footsteps. It was Frederich, the quiet German boy from the dairy down the road. His family kept to themselves. It was the 50’s, not long after the war ended. People were still stung by what happened in Europe so neighbors were rather harsh at times.
I told Frederich I’d share my tree until the rain stopped. We just stared at each other, not knowing what to say. He asked what I was reading and I told him it wasn’t a book but a journal of stories. He told me he liked to read. I asked him, “What was it like to be German?” He asked me, “What was it like to be American?” From then on we started to meet in secret and told each other stories, and shared dreams. No one knew about our friendship. My papa would’ve whipped me and cursed to no end.
One day Frederich held my hand. This was months after our first meeting. Frederich was two years older than I. I thought him to be so wise but really he was just a boy unbuckling into adolescence as I was. I felt safe with him and after a year we were inseparable, still in secret though. He gave me a small German storybook and taught me a few German words. We had secret code words between us – it was if we created our own world away from our regular existence. Another year passed and soon we talked of being together forever and where would we go and what would we do.
One hot Summer day we splashed and played in the creek and then we ran back to the shelter of our tree. We hugged and kissed and giggled. Then I felt Frederich’s hand touch the fullness of my breast. I tingled as never before. This started our discovery of the flesh in little tidbits at a time. It was Frederich who wanted to go slow, so different then what I thought a boy would be. It was me who wanted to keep tasting. One day we did go to the place of divine pleasure. It was awkward though, that first time, both achy and pleasurable.
Four months passed and in that time sickness overcame me each morning. My belly had swollen but I was still able to hide my secret within the fullness of my dresses. My mother knew though. She finally pulled me aside and questioned me up and down. I had to tell her but I didn’t tell her it was Frederich. She knew my father would be furious and go into a rage. She arranged for me to go away for five months to live with her widowed sister. I could live there until the baby was born and earn my keep by taking care of her.
The baby came, a girl I secretly named Emma Lily. She was born April 12th. It happened to be the day Frederich and I met that one rainy Spring day. I screamed when they took her away. I never got to hold Emma Lily. They rushed her slippery body, legs and arms dangling, lungs in full bloom to a readied blanket. She was wrapped tightly and whisked to another room. I lay there in utter emptiness, no physical pain felt, the dull emotional pain taking over as if time had stopped.
I went back home and sank into my writing. I couldn’t see Frederich again, not even at our secret place. The risk was too great that people would find out who my baby’s father was. If only I had known what was to come.
One evening flames could be seen. It was at Frederich’s family home. No one admitted to it. They said it was spilled candle oil that lit the farmhouse. Frederich and his family had perished, just five months after my return. The next day I left, left the memories behind me except for the little German book Frederich gave me and the memories that no one could take away. To this day they are with me. When I hear a baby cry I hear Emma Lily. When I see a young lad who reminds me of Frederich I stop and linger in yesterday. I don’t cry now. I used to. I used to cry inside so hard that it was all that I could do to keep it contained. Now when a memory bumps into me I stop and let it wash over me, I feel it, I sense it, I linger in it and then I keep moving until another knock arrives to say hello.
01 May 2008
The urgency of it remains with me to this day. The new town had begun to be drowning, it’s windows fogged, streaked with crooked finger marks, doors chipped and ragged, hinges loose, shelves once full lay empty and dusty.
It was not long ago that I happened upon the new town. I was quite comfortable living my life in the town I knew. Yeah, there were times I wish my town offered more but it was enough. One day I slipped out of my town. I didn’t travel far until I noticed in the distance something was drawing me near. I tried to hold back, was a bit anxious to walk into a new town, not knowing a soul, not understanding why there was a tug and pull. Do I peek in? Do I retreat to the comfort of my town?
Forward motion held out. The door mat was quite enticing, red carpet treatment one could hardly imagine. Could this really be happening to me? I was drunk from play, drunk from the new found comfort, drunk from diving into the waters without a pause. My guards left and I was naked with wild abandon like never before. I felt hatched, birthed from a tightly held shell. I wanted to be naked forever with this new town. There was so much exploring to do that I could hardly wait for each new day to buckle forth.
Then one day the town changed. It happened so abruptly that I could hardly imagine exactly where the bridge had broken. Where once it’s fence, gates, doors and windows were expressively open, it shut down as if a total blackout occurred. I didn’t understand and the shock of it burst forth a flurry inside. It was as if the comfort of a long held sentiment was taken away.
The only place I had left to go was back to the old town. That seemed like the most mature and logical decision. Yet I had forgotten the route I had originally taken. Maybe forgotten wasn't the appropriate vestige. Perhaps I fought the truth, rebelled against what lay open in plain sight. Each new road I came upon I took, and yet, it seemed to take me back to the new town, the town I needed to leave. I lingered there again, left, came back, lingered, left, came back, lingered a little longer and then I realized unconsciously that I was hanging on as if an addict. Each time I left and came back my body and soul became heavier.
One day I came upon a flower garden with a small pond in the middle and shiny lily pads softly rousing. A lone old woman was sitting upon a worn yellow bench, her grey hairs tucked inside the red wool hat, her wrinkles soft and pillowed around her sad eyes, her hands folded upon her lap, a gaze so sullen I dare not touch her space. It was as if I saw my own reflection. At that moment I turned and walked out of that town, never to return again.
07 Apr 2008
Two chairs facing each other
Me in one, the other empty
Our favorite song playing
Words chasing in my head
Today I’d say Good-Bye
To my friend, to my love
Can I really do this?
It’s time to, it’s time to
I look at the empty chair
Visualize you sitting there
Our eyes say hello
I want to reach out
I hold your picture
I nuzzle your favorite shirt
I imagine your scent
I feel your touch
I miss you so and linger in yesterday
When I wake and you’re not there
I want to go back to sleep and
Wake up all over, but you’re
Still not there, still not there
Who am I without you?
I know, if you were here you’d say
“Come on, you’ve got one minute”.
I feel as if I’m standing on one leg
Wobbling in life,
Swimming against the current
I wonder why you went first
Why not me? You were the strong one.
Damn it, I feel numb, I feel comatose
I wrote you a letter….
My Love,
You were my gem, my sparkle, my firecracker. Remember the first time we met -- we were both rollerblading on the school grounds. I was just a beginner, didn’t know the proper technique for stopping and ran right into you. You caught me, I was embarrassed and we went along our way. I was smitten that first time but thought you too cute for me. I kept practicing, you kept your distance upon approaching me but we smiled. Eventually I was good enough to catch you – and boy did I!! Or, did you catch me??!!
The happiest day was when we were married and scooted away on our rollerblades and raced into lawn sprinklers, fell to the ground, giggled and hugged each other. Our vows, written together, are with me everyday, the weathered tawny paper safely tucked away in our treasure box of shells, love notes, and trinkets of our life together.
I miss you dearly, miss waking up before you and gently touching the softness of your face and neck, and seeing the peaceful rhythm of your breathing. You encouraged me to aim for the top of the mountain when I thought I could only make it half way to the hikers hut. I admired your spunk, your drive, your clever ways with people, your commitment to us, your playfulness, and your generosity towards others. You made me feel loved and appreciated.
There are days when I don’t know how to go on without you, I think of you all the time. When I come home I imagine you’ll be there but you’re not. I’ve held on to your things because it’s my way to imagine your presence by my side. At night I hold your pillow and cry into it.
Hours have turned to days and days have turned to years. I’m terribly lonely baby. I try, I try to care, I try to love but then I get scared and run back to the comfort of us. People try to change me, they don’t understand me – you did. I know you’d want me not to be lonely and I keep thinking you’ll show me a sign. But then, perhaps you have shown me and I’ve not noticed.
I know I’m a better person because of you. I’ve taken forward steps since you’ve been gone. Some say baby steps. To me, they are leaps if people really knew what brews inside. I’ve thought a lot about you lately – how I could honor you. I know we’ll be together again in death and I shall look forward to that day. For now, to live now it means to say good-bye to our chapter, to a cherished chapter that will always be with me and to say hello to another chapter, ready to be filled.
Someone once told me that God has a gift waiting for me to be opened. But first I have to say good-bye to what is no longer now so that I can fully appreciate, take care of and have enough love for the new gift. This is hard because I want to keep holding on.
Today, I wanted to talk to you, to let you know my plan, to let you know how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I don’t want to forget us. No, I won’t forget. I will smile when I bump into a memory of us, I will remember our special days, always. Always. I say good-bye to yesterday, and what a ride it was!! I say hello to today, and I welcome tomorrow. I will gather my new stories and adventures so I have lots to share with you when we meet again my love. Forever yours.......
07 Apr 2008
From the movie “The Doctor” with William Hurt
This movie is a heart warmer. It’s about a doctor who uses humor among his staff but keeps an emotional distance from his patients. One day he finds out he has throat cancer and is now the patient. As a patient he experiences delays, unattached doctors and an awakening of his emotional side. He meets a spirited fellow cancer patient who helps him to open his heart. Here is a letter she wrote to him prior to his surgery. I call it “Unchained Heart”
Dear Jack,
You just left and I was thinking about you. I wrote you a story about a farmer. I hope you get it before your surgery.
There was a farmer who had alot of fields. He had traps and fences to keep the birds and creatures away. He was very successful but he was very lonely. One day he stood in the middle of his field to welcome the animals. He stayed there dawn to dusk with his arms outstretched calling to them. Not a single animal came, not a single creature appeared. You see, they were terrified of the farmer’s scarecrow. Dear Jack – just let down your arms and we’ll all come to you. Jean
30 Mar 2008
Love note found under pillow
Favorite chocolate in coat pocket
Lingering weekend sleep-ins
Calls to share a sunrise glow
Evening strolls, warm fingers entangled
Chasing each other through virgin meadows
Snuggling watching Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory
Wrestling and giggling in wild abandon
Lipstick note upon bathroom window
Chores all finished – play at hand
Secrets claimed between only two
Tiny flowers a windshield greeting
Welcome hug after long day
Foot massages, oohs and ahhs
Summer picnics in favorite places
Loyalty never questioned
A quiet look that says ”I love you”
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