tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078483744873792132.post3097812240284535649..comments2023-10-23T15:51:59.571-04:00Comments on Diapers and Dragons: distanceTeacher Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11215145025563985398noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078483744873792132.post-6829361056927268922009-10-26T15:28:01.456-04:002009-10-26T15:28:01.456-04:00You do know how to tug at my heartstrings -- can y...You do know how to tug at my heartstrings -- can you tug hard enough that we could have a heart-to-heart across the distance? Words do that, your words. I can't write anything new tonight, brain-weary as I am from doing the Hebrew-French-Nyarafolo thing. But your words brought a memory I've shared before. You are planted in the land of seasons that we all love. Dad and I are rovers, nomads:<br /><br />I am only, always<br />just a resident alien<br />on a yoyo between worlds,<br />with a foreign address,<br />borrowed rooms,<br />and a “home” <br />where I never live.<br />At least not yet.<br />Someday.<br /><br />Meanwhile everything<br />is temporary.<br />A modern nomad,<br />I have no herds,<br />just other moveable goods:<br />my books, my music,<br />practical clothes,<br />and indications <br />of my nesting instinct<br />like candles, chocolate,<br />the essential coffeepot,<br />and photos.<br /><br />Not even family<br />stays intact:<br />I trail children <br />in my wake,<br />some here, some there;<br />siblings halfway<br />around the world,<br />parents all back <br />where we come from.<br />Friends are lost to distance<br />or to silence.<br /><br />Memories of<br />discarded nests<br />of back and forth<br />and torturous goodbyes<br />move in succession<br />through my thoughts.<br />Airports have sanded<br />off my heart<br />until it’s raw.<br />Togetherness and roots<br />are the elusive stuff <br />of dreams.<br /><br />Just call me Sarah,<br />partnered with my Abe,<br />inevitably<br />packing up<br />and moving on,<br />risking everything<br />on promises<br />and for the sake<br />of the Voice.<br /><br />We do have resting places;<br />we’ve left our<br />markers there,<br />something permanent<br />in all the transience.<br />They stand as <br />firm reminders <br />of epiphanies.<br />Whenever we can circle back<br />in thought or fact,<br />we do. <br /><br />And there,<br />we find that gratitude<br />and confidence renewed<br />give hope a boost,<br />and keep us headed<br />in our true direction:<br />a country where<br />we’ll turn in suitcases<br />for all the comforts <br />of Home.<br /><br />SOMEDAY WE'LL ALL BE TOGETHER FOREVER.momnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078483744873792132.post-68073374043701774562009-10-26T11:41:19.493-04:002009-10-26T11:41:19.493-04:00Thank you my daughter who is far away:
Two little...Thank you my daughter who is far away:<br /><br />Two little girls of maybe 5 and 7<br />large smiles covering their pretty faces<br />hair in neat cornrow braids with beads<br />running up to me a prefect stranger<br />perhaps strange in my white skin<br />but not strange with a smile of greeting<br />and willing hands to hold<br />while walking down a street to get a taxi<br /><br />Oral communication in French for me<br />and Bambara for them<br />not able to really understand what was said<br />Non verbal communication in smiles, laughter and touching hands<br />A brief encounter on a busy street<br />probably never to meet again as the taxi took me away<br />They brought joy into my life and I hope did in theirs<br />even for that brief encounter.<br /><br />The joy turned to reflection and a deep longing <br />for days gone buy when I had little girls and a little boy<br />to hold, cuddle, comfort, and play childhood games<br />and to be held, cuddled, and comforted<br />days that I thought would never end <br />where I thought that there was always tomorrow <br />to play<br />to read<br />to listen<br />to be with<br /><br />Those days passed all too quickly <br />sometimes putting imagined and real priorities<br />over my children<br />Days I would love to take back<br />and think that I would do differently<br />But I would have been the same person<br />and probably would have been pretty much the same<br /><br />Older now, but not always wiser,<br />I realize that in all the things that we are called to do<br />we are not so much called to do a “thing”<br />but rather to be.<br />a friend<br />a companion<br />a teacher<br />an example<br />a person who cares and loves others<br /><br />What I want to be, my dearest firstborn,<br />is a father who never stops loving you<br />a grandfather whose grandchildren want to see and visit<br />not because of toys or things I give<br />but because of who I give – myself<br />the polar bear, the lap, the cuddle,<br />and as they get older the listening ear<br />and love.<br /><br />I miss you greatly and the distance hurts<br />and I thank the Lord he gave us you!Dadnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4078483744873792132.post-33455423908597342932009-10-26T09:10:39.162-04:002009-10-26T09:10:39.162-04:00"polycyanate"
Now there's a word I ..."polycyanate"<br /><br />Now there's a word I never expected to stumble across in a poem!Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05358631883472544059noreply@blogger.com