THE ARTIST

Let me paint a picture in words:….my imagination is my canvas and language my paint:


THE ARTIST

The colours: gentle moods with silent hues,
Passionate reds and brooding blues:
A backdrop of lifetime’s mopes,
Past, present and future hopes.

Brush: dancing on parchment …deliberation,
Staring at its master in anticipation.
Submissively it oozes its paint
Tentatively, touching with scarring taint.

Background music honors memories
Some are sad, some a pleasure
Rhythmically, wistfully in the breeze
Holding my artistic measure.

Melting moments of chocolate…
Wafting flavours in my nose
Savouring, pondering my work takes form.
Look at the creation… wriggle my toes.

The work; a sleep of a thousand sighs
And moments mentioned to tearful eyes.
I command the skies and twiddle the landscape…
And finally settle in silent slumber.

(CAM 20June2008)

A ROUND TUIT

How often do we put off that irritating task…”I’ll do it when I get around to it!”? My own experience is that often that task simply never gets done. It hangs around the attic of our mental ‘to do’ list, gathering layers of dust and eventually fading into obscurity.

Some time ago, I was shopping for a present for a person who ‘had everything’ – I’m sure you know the feeling; the endless trudging around a shopping centre in the hope that something will just jump out at you.

At a time when my legs were almost deserting me I walked into a crafters’ shop. The display was marvelous, such creativity! On a remote shelf, there it was – the perfect gift – a small round cushion with a label; the ‘TUIT’.

On the back of the label was the explanation: “For the procrastinator:- A product that will eliminate all excuses – the ROUND TUIT! - For that special person who promises they will do something when they get a ROUND TUIT.”

I bought the ROUND TUIT that day and gave it to that special person, but alas – we don’t have one in our house and the excuse remains…”I will eventually get around to it!”

SAVING WATER

SAVING WATER

Most newlyweds will know that the first few of months of married life presents the task of working out the division of roles and household chores. 25 years ago, my husband and I were doing just that. He developed a really endearing habit in his routine of bringing me a cup of tea or coffee in bed first thing in the morning.

His own experience, in those first few months, however, was rather alarming since he was convinced that his coffee tasted like rubber. He analysed his routine very carefully; checked the kettle, the milk, the coffee and the mug but the irritating taste of rubber could not be identified. Indeed, he even bought a new kettle in the vain attempt to avert the taste. Eventually he resolved that it must be something in the pipes in our flat. Either way, the distaste was there to stay.

I, on the other hand, didn’t notice anything unusual. I had grown up on a farm where water was scarce and we saved every drop we could. Complaints about the taste of water were out of place. Indeed our water on the farm often tasted like rubber, so the rubbery taste in the flat wasn’t unusual at all from my point of view.

Those first winter months of our married life were very cold and one of our treats was the nightly hot water bottle. I would boil the kettle in the evening and fill the bottle lovingly before retiring to bed.

One Saturday morning, my husband slept in and I decided to reverse the treat and give him a cup of coffee in bed. I duly trotted off to the kitchen, clutching the hot water bottle. I checked the water level of the kettle and seeing that it was fairly empty, carefully opened the stopper of the hot water bottle and poured the water into the kettle.

It was at that point that my husband walked into the kitchen a saw what I was doing. After a whole year, he had found the source of the rubbery taste in his coffee:- his wife in the thoughtful attempt at ‘saving water’ had unthinkingly been emptying the water from the hot water bottle into the kettle each morning. At last the mystery of the rubbery taste was solved. I, however, have never lived this story down. It has been a constant joke in our family. “Visitors beware – our coffee tastes like rubber!”

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The greatest gift one can give anyone is UNCONDITIONAL love and acceptance.


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A wise person asked me one day..... "What is stopping you from accepting your incompetence?"

Sometimes we forget that things have a limit; - including ourselves. We forget that we are perhaps not designed to be perfect. Imagine the peace it would bring when we stop banging our heads on brick walls in vain attempts to do something or to present ourselves in a certain way. Imagine being able to accept our imperfections and knowing that it is "OK"?

Erikson suggested that the final stage of human life evolves around the crises of synthesising integrity and despair, i.e. when a person looks back on their life they may regret their activities and desperately attempt to make ammends, or/and they may look back on their lives and feel, "yes, that's me". By resolving this "crisis" they synthesise their psychological development into "WISDOM".

Many people strive vainly for wisdom - that elusive state restricted to the wise. Perhaps that is just it - not to strive, but rather to accept what is, to know what is, to understand what is and to be "ok" with what is. So....

What does it take for us to make peace with our incompetence? Perhaps in time, we will be able to do exactly that....(?)

GRANDPARENTS

Today at our walking club, I got chatting to a recently retired couple. It was a real inspiration to be with them and to understand that they have embraced this opportunity to spend quality time with each other as well as time with their grandchildren. One of their goals for retirement was to get fit and walk together. This was exactly what they were doing and their enjoyment was palpable.

They lovingly described their family, their children, their grandchildren and the recent fun times spent together. Their gratitude at being able to share these special moments and to watch their grandchildren grow up was inspirational.

It's moments like these that remind us to enjoy every opportunity with loved ones - afterall our time with them may be limited. Retirement is a time to look forward to, it seems. So today, I resolve to try to cherish all moments, to step back and appreciate the small things in life, to enjoy others' enjoyment and to be thankful for my own life.

Thank you to this beautiful couple for their wisdom.

A TIME TO CONSIDER

A TIME TO CONSIDER

TIME, the enemy, a man-created rival.
Firmly entrenched as governor supreme in this world of today.

Yet, pace her, and she grants reprieve –
For us to award ourselves accolades; to relish our own accomplishments.

By her measure; we excel; we limit ourselves; we succeed.
At what point in history did she really take charge over the plans of God?

For Time has no patience, no regard for forgiveness.
To err is to be tarred forever with the sword of defeat.
Her forgiveness, she delegates to man.

Time has no place for a friend in need – only if planned to fit her own parameters.
Yet, in taking up arms to fight her war, the sun, in faithfulness, sets and rises.
Where man does not abide by the laws of the sun, his body, defeated, is unable to fight the war of Time.

The laws of Time are non-negotiable, so why do we credit her with being the ‘Great Healer’

Think about it – Time is not our ally!
She smiles at the tenacity of her disguise.

(CAM)

(A balanced life, paced beautifully with the rhythms of God, is the only way…)

THE TEACHER

THE TEACHER

To lift a child up; to make the load lighter.

To grant a skill; to make a future brighter -

The teacher, patiently, shares all she knows,

Planting a seed, she knows later grows.

Always searching the good; nurturing a skill.

The potential of the child she knows so well.

Meticulously, carefully, day by day,

She'll mold the child's future in a really special way.

In flippant gratitude, the child will smile,

For understanding comes later; her potential worthwhile.

The teacher's prize; only the future will tell,

When her pupil becomes 'teacher', her work is done well!

(CAM)

TWENTY FOUR HOURS

I saw the dawn
On a lonely morn'...
A trickle of sunlight
on the dewy lawn.

Had not the hand of God
given all His brightness
To grow this day?

And in the eve'
I came to believe;
That the Lord's 'settle of dark'
Was there - the world's taints to deceive

(CAM)

PERFECTLY CREATED, PERFECTLY EQUIPPED, PERFECTLY PROVIDED...
(CAM)

DAUGHTER

My daughter, I love you
If only you'd see...
What a treasure,
You truly are to me!



To watch you
As your gifts unfold,
Is for me the bessing,
I eagerly hold.

Your tentative steps
Along the path you take;
Are but a moment away
From the knowledge YOU make.

They're your steps
And yours alone!
So, in comparison,
Why do you groan?

Let your heart
Not linger on regrets,
But rather...
On what God offers you, yet.

For a troubled heart
Is the acid that wears away -
Those special gifts
Which you have been given, this day.

Hold onto your dreams, my child.
Let nothing take them apart.
Treasure what God has given you
Practice this art!

For you really are lovely!
The warmth of your soul and your heart,
Your smile and your thoughts
Are what set you apart.
(CAM)

WHAT FOOTPRINTS WILL YOU LEAVE?

WHAT FOOTPRINTS WILL YOU LEAVE?

What footprints will you leave, dear child along life's narrow way?

Steady, unshaking, or will they be wayward and far astray?

The heritage you receive is clear, dear child,

what heritage will you leave?

Take heart, dear child,

what footprints will you leave?

His loving hand will guide your steps,

protecting you along the way.

May your steps be purposeful,

in His hands, I pray.

Take heart, dear child,

you're fearfully and wonderfully made.

He loves you dearly -

look at the price He paid.

Look to the Light for His leading.

Scatter your seeds with love.

What footprints will you leave, dear child?

What imprint of the Father above?

(CAM)

MAX

An overwhelming Love I feel,
For this manificent creature at my heel.
Golden coat, tail held free,
Dark, beautiful eyes, all focused on me.

The excitement of his walk, he can hardly contain:
Pawing every step, his leash under strain.
"Free", I say: In a flash he bounds
Gurgling with pleasure, as he makes his rounds.
A sniff here, a 'point' there
A dart to the stream, a backward stare.
His coat is alight with silvery streaks
His stance so expressive, it almost speaks.

In contrast, he hurtles to the darkest of ponds:
Sticky slush and rotting fronds.
And then, he sits in it and stares in glee,
Knowing full well, the fury in me.
A final dip in that filthy lake,
Onto the bank and begins his "shake".
I shudder to think of the bath that must follow
To rid him of the gunge his fur had to swallow.

He stares at me as if nothing was done,
Now it's bathtime, for the smell is not fun.
Apologetically, reluctantly he climbs in the bath
He's so unhappy, I just have to laugh.
I bribe him with treats as I shampoo up his fur
And he answers my pleas with a soapy slurrrr.
Finally rinsed out, he's as good as new,
Running trenches in my passage - the bath was the cue.

As hunger strikes, he's at my side,
Innocence again; nothing to hide.
I fill his bowl as he patiently watches,
The drool from his jowls, just falling in blotches.
The meal is his best, it seems to be
His very existence as he trusts in me.

As the night falls, so does he - at my feet
Our two spirits tied - always to meet.
He'd die for me, and I for him,
His short life; a concept too grim.
My companion, my friend, nothing he lacks.
My beautiful dog.......
.........THAT'S MY MAX!!
(CAM)