Tag Archives: memories

Meditations of the Milkmaid

home, , , , , , , , ,

And it came to pass, in the 7th year of the reign of King Vajiralongkorn, in the third month, the Third Daughter of Daniel and the Eldest Daughter of Paul spake to one another.

And they said, Let us arise and go from this Country in which we sojourn, and let us rest for a Time in the Land of our Fathers, for here, the Smoke lies thick and the Heat is Blazing. Let us travel to the Land of our Fathers and return in the time of the rains, lest our Hearts wax Weary and our Brains become as Soup.

And so it came to pass that in the 4th month of the year, the Third Daughter of Daniel returned to her ancestral home. And lo, her journey was Long, for she rode on an airplane from the Kingdom of Thailand to the Kingdom of Korea and from thence to the State of California. And from the State of California, that state which knows so many Dangers to the Health of Man, she traveled by Train to her Home. And as she traveled, she encountered many things and consorted with Amish people on the Train who thought she was rather Strange and Old, and witnessed a forcible Removal of a certain lady on the Train, and had a Great Surprise when the Fourth Daughter of Daniel came aboard the train. And she said to herself that she would record All These Things when she arrived at her Home, but alas, when she arrived at home, her Heart was Weary and her Brain was as Soup, for she had stayed in the Heat of the Far Off Country a little Too Long.

But as the days passed, she revived and her Heart was filled with Joy at the sight of Spring and Flowers and Cows and Cats and Dogs and Nieces and Nephews. And of course, her Mother and Father. And one day she spoke to the Fourth Daughter of Daniel and said, If thou wilt sew me a dress, I will milk Cows for you, for I know how much you despair of Cows and you know how much I despair of Dresses. For long ago, the Third Daughter of Daniel tried her hand at Making Dresses, and many were the times when she lifted up her Voice and wept while picking out Seams.

And the Fourth Daughter of Daniel rejoiced and was exceedingly glad, and so it came to pass that the Third Daughter of Daniel milked the Cows by herself while the Fourth Daughter of Daniel sewed. And it is the Nature of the Third Daughter of Daniel to either meditate deeply when she is milking cows, or to lift up her Voice in Loud Praises, and this was the evening for meditating deeply. And Meditation in the Milkbarn by Maidens is a Worthy Pastime, so long as they do not Meditate too deeply and milk the Bull by accident.

And as she meditated, she remembered with Nostalgia her Life as a Child. And she marveled at the House of Daniel that each of the Children of Daniel, from the Eldest to the Youngest, still lived to speak of their Growing Up Years, for they had run with Scissors and drunk out of Hoses and Skinny-Dipped in the Water Tank and played with Fire.

And she meditated of the Eldest Daughter of Daniel, who rode the Copper-colored Pony when she was young, and when she saw her Father driving the Massey Tractor along the Road, she said to her Pony, Come, let us arise and race my Father. And she went like the Wind and her Father was astounded when the Maiden and the Pony swept past them at 30 miles an hour. And it was her that fell from the Wild Horse that no one could rightly tame and it was her that drove down the newly dug sides of the Lagoon on her bicycle and landed with a Resounding Crash at the Bottom. And it was also her when she was a Maiden milking Cows, who saw the Son of Lloyd coming to the door of the Barn, and said loudly, Get Out! And she knew not then that it was the Son of Lloyd, but thought it was One of the House of Daniel. And thankfully, the Son of Lloyd did not listen to her, but instead fell madly in Love with her and they are married to this day with many Flourishing Olive Plants and Arrows.

And as the Third Daughter of Daniel milked, she also meditated on the Second Daughter of Daniel. Now the Second Daughter of Daniel did not race Horses like the Eldest did, but drove a Wicked Lawnmower. And it came to pass as the Second Daughter of Daniel mowed the Lawn, she sang with Joy in her Heart and did not mow around a Newly-Planted Tree, but instead drove straight over it. And another time as she warbled on her Lawnmower, behold, her Lawnmower caught on the Swing and the Rear Tires of the Lawnmower kept on moving, and the front part of the Lawnmower went up towards the Heavens. And the Second Daughter of Daniel screamed, and the Screaming of the Second Daughter of Daniel is a Fearsome Thing indeed. And the Second Daughter of Daniel was also Fearless. For in those days, there was a Strange Milkman who liked to come into the House to ask to use the Phone. And as the Milkman used the Phone and the House of Daniel watched, the Second Daughter of Daniel sneaked up behind the Strange Milkman and stood on a Lunchbox and put her Fingers into Bunny Ears and gave the Milkman Bunny Ears as he unwittingly chatted on the Phone. And behold, grievous was the Shock to the Wife of Daniel as she watched.

And now we come to the Son of Daniel. And here lieth the Greatest Mystery of All, that the Son of Daniel survived to this day. For the Brain of the Son of Daniel sprouted many Great and Strange Ideas for Inventions and Things to Do. And he made a Chopper and a Silage Wagon for the Lawnmower, and he created a Sail for the Wagon to sail in the Wind on Windy Days and a Boat from an old Bicycle and Barrels. And he terrorized the Cats and used the Flower Garden for a Toilet, to the Consternation of the Wife of Daniel. And he built a Fire among the Trees and hunted for Treasure in all the Corners of the Old Farmhouse and made Teepees in the Tree Belt and Tree Houses in the Osage Orange Trees and hunted Sparrows and put them into Mud Pies. And he had many Grand Money-making Schemes and bought Guinea Hens and Dachshunds and Pigs and Rabbits. And lo, one day, his Rabbit was sick and it had Diarrhea. And the Son of Daniel gave the Rabbit Pepto Bismol to alleviate the Rabbit’s suffering and the Rabbit was then constipated and so the Son of Daniel gave the Rabbit a laxative. And then the Rabbit had Diarrhea again and it said to itself, This is Too Much, and gave up the ghost.

And it is only fair that the Third Daughter of Daniel think of herself. And in the days of her Youth, the Third Daughter of Daniel wanted a Donkey. And the Son of the Brother of the Wife of Daniel bought her a Donkey and the Third Daughter of Daniel loved the Donkey and she christened him, Jorge. And behold, the Donkey was stubborn and had two Speeds—Very Fast and Very Slow. And the Son of the Brother of the Wife of Daniel trained the Donkey and he spake to the Third Daughter of Daniel. And he spake thus, When thou drivest the Donkey, thou shalt not drive alone, but shalt drive with another Person who shall hold another Rope to the Donkey’s Halter to help when the Reins attached to the Bridle are not enough, and this Person shall be called your Emergency Brake. And so it came to pass that one day, the Third Daughter of Daniel and Fourth Daughter of Daniel drove the Donkey, and the Fourth Daughter of Daniel was the Emergency Brake, and they set forth on an expedition. And as they went, the Donkey heard a Fearsome Noise and waxed Sore Afraid and lo, the Donkey went like the Driving of Jehu. And the Emergency Brake flew off towards the South onto some very Rough Stones and the Third Daughter of Daniel steadfastly continued on the expedition and searched her heart and prepared to meet her Maker. And when the Donkey turned to go to its Home, the Third Daughter of Daniel did not and she flew off the Cart Towards the Going Down of the Sun and landed in a Soft Sand Pile. And the Daughters of Daniel lay where they landed for a Long Time and great was the Mirth of the Daughters of Daniel.

And we must not forget the Fourth Daughter of Daniel, who is of Small Stature, but of Great Spirit. And the Fourth Daughter of Daniel cultivated a Tendency to Fly, not only on Donkey Carts with Emergency Brakes but also on Bicycles without Brakes. And it came to pass that the House of Daniel and the House of Jacob and the House of Glendon and the House of Dean and many other Houses had a Holiday and they spent their Holiday on a Bike Trip in the Park. And behold, there was a Hill and a Road, and a Curve in the Road on the Bottom of the Hill, and a Creek after the Curve at the Bottom of the Hill. And lo, as the Fourth Daughter of Daniel coasted down the Hill, her Brakes gave out and at the Curve on the Bottom of the Hill, the Fourth Daughter of Daniel spread out her arms like that of a Great Eagle and she flew into the Creek at the Bottom of the Hill. And after her Extrication from the Creek, she was covered in Mud from the Top of her Head to the Tips of her Toes. And to this day, when the Second Son of Dean sees the Fourth Daughter of Daniel, he will ask her if she has flown into any Creeks lately.

And thus was the Manner of the Meditations of the Third Daughter of Daniel as she milked the Cows. And she marveled thus, that even with all the Flying and Speeding and Crashing and other Sundry Disasters,  the Children of the House of Daniel have every Bone intact and every Nose unbroken. And thought to herself that the Children of Daniel turned out Mostly Ok. While they may not be fat, they are flourishing and this Thought gave her Peace as she meditated and milked.

Thus end the Meditations of the Milkmaid, recorded in the 7th year of the reign of King Vajiralongkorn, in the 4th month of the Year.

Kansas (Vignettes of a Journey #6)

ache, home, life on the foreign field, Poetry, travel, , , , , , ,

Only in sleep I see their faces,

Children I played with when I was a child.

Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,

Annie with ringlets warm and wild. “Only in Sleep” by Sara Teasdale

Nostalgia is one of the biggest emotions that hit me when I am home. Half of my time at home, I spend reminiscing and walking around old haunts or digging through shoeboxes of letters and photos and school papers. The above poem brings a lump to my throat as I think of my past visit home.

It was a memorable visit, filled with out-of-the-ordinary happenings, not all that were nice.

After traveling home from Reach, I got sick the first week. On the last day of March, it snowed enough to cover the ground and then it all melted by noon. The next week, my nephew fell off his horse and broke his wrist and we had high winds almost every day. The following week was windy again for a few days and then we had some really warm windy weather, along with hail, rain and then again, some snow! The day before Good Friday a gas plant in Haven blew up and some people could see the flames from our area. The last week I was home we had about one nice day, and the rest were cold and windy.

I loved the snow we got, though, even when others were quite glum about it. And there were other highlights to offset the unhappy surprises. My nieces and I took a little trip one day to the library and to the Dutch Kitchen. Sara and I spent a day at a coffee shop together and I also joined her at work one day. Our family got together for Good Friday, and Mom and Dad and Sara and I went out for supper one evening. I got to help at a community sale one Saturday, attended baptism services at our church one Sunday, and listened to a school program the last evening I was home. I visited my grandma’s grave one afternoon. Most Mondays I went with Aunt Miriam to the doctor where she did lab and chemo.

Wednesday evening before I left was a perfect spring evening, and my nephew Eric, the one who had not broken his wrist, and I went horseback riding. We saw 5 turkeys, one deer, and another animal that we decided was either a coyote or a mountain lion, both of which have a tail, a tawny color and a loping run. Both of us hoped it was the latter, but we weren’t close enough to make sure. Friday before I left on Saturday, I went with Grandpa and my Aunt Miriam and Dad to the doctor. In the evening, my nephew Davon, the one who had broken his wrist, came over with his .22 youth rifle and we went bird hunting in 40 mph winds, shouting to each other over the howl. I shot at several birds and was always secretly glad that I hit none. Somehow, shooting things does not have the same appeal as it used to, but I did pray that Davon would hit something and he did.

This time, saying goodbye harder than it had been for a long time. The last two times I had been home, Covid restrictions made it complicated and difficult to travel back to Thailand, so the last few days of my time at home had been spent stressing about travel back. This time was different, with eased restrictions. It was also the first time I was home after grandma’s death. This made it harder to say goodbye to my mom, since she seemed smaller and whiter than before.

Saturday morning dawned rainy. I am always glad when it is rainy the day I leave, since it fits my mood. Before I left, I ran out to the apple tree and cut some blossoms that had just appeared overnight.

And then I left for Wichita in the middle of the endless Kansas wind.

Interlude

ache, culture, home, life on the foreign field, love, Poetry, , , , , , , ,

And all that has passed before us, this day, this rain

And the sunshine and the green, green meadow

Are swallowed in the night that comes softly,

Silent and dear and painful;

When the memories of those times and the echoes of that laughter

Throb soundlessly beneath the symphony of crickets

And the boom of the frogs in the marsh.

While we wait with wistful ears for a voice

That comes from beyond those thousand deep-set stars

To sing over us in the twilight of our hearts.

Hiraeth* (to my Baanies)

ache, Baanies, life on the foreign field, , , , , , , , , ,

The nights are growing cooler now

You would be wearing socks as you come downstairs in the morning

Hair tousled, to fix your coffee at the kitchen sink

Knocking shoulders in the narrow space between the sink and the ant cupboard

That doesn’t keep out ants any better than it used to;

With only the muffled grunts of coffeeless “good mornings”

Before the clatter of another day.

****************************************************************

I’ve washed the blankets in the living room now.

You would be wrapping them around your shoulders as you sit

Beneath the lamplight in the living room, under the stringed lights,

Where it says “Everyday holds a miracle.”

And if the hot cocoa in our mugs would not keep us warm

The laughter ringing about the house would

I know it would.

*************************************************************

The motorbike rides are colder now.

You would be putting on layers before you leave, bundling up

In scarves and gloves and hoodies, layered beyond recognition

And breezing through the crisp night air with whiffs of woodsmoke

Arising from sleeping homes blanketed in fog

Under the streetlights like sentinels guarding and watching

On your way home.

************************************************************

The nights are growing cooler now….

***********************************************************

*”Hiraeth: a homesickness for a place which you can’t return to or never was. (noun/origin: Welsh/Heer-eyeth) This is a Welsh concept of longing for home — but more than just missing something, it implies the meaning of having a bittersweet memory of missing a time, era or person.” Credit: iamialeen.com

Remember

ache, home, Poetry, this college life, , , , , , ,

I live in a world where vehicles crowd

Each other in unending race;

Streetlights outshine the stars at night

And smog smothers the young moon’s face;

The air is heavy with the scent of fumes

Even at night the din rarely dies;

Yet I find my way in this rush of life

Where myriads of sound from the city rise.

 

And sometimes they ask me, do you remember

The elms in the winter night?

The falling of snowflakes in the muffled dusk

And the way they dance in the light?

Or the way the mountains look in the rain

When cat-footed and gray comes the mist,

And one by one the lights blink on

Solitary beacons, alone, fog-kissed.

 

No, I have not forgotten, and the memory

Comes quick and gold and keen,

And I know when wind shakes the elms with snow

For I feel a stirring, a glad unseen;

And when the mist comes creeping up the mountainside

And the lights gleam on, a pain,

A beautiful pain, chokes, and I can forget

Only as the wind can forget the rain.

 

October 3 (for Creative Writing class)

featured photo credit: pixabay.com

Airport Reverie

Poetry, , , , ,

I wonder

If the chameleon ever fears

The melting into another shade,

The switching from brown to green

Fearing it can never reverse the change?

Or if it welcomes the bleeding of color

The concealment from probing eyes?

I wonder….

 

I wonder

If the chameleon ever wonders

If the blending in dulls its senses

And robs a something from its life?

Or if it blithely obeys the commands of instinct

And finds shelter in the safety

Of being same?

I wonder…

 

I wonder

If the chameleon ever tires

Of the constant change of outward identity

And wishes for once to be normal?

Or if it always embraces

The new pigment without restraint

Unthinkingly?

I wonder….

Child That Never Really Was Mine 2

at risk, children, life on the foreign field, Poetry, , ,
It’s now close to two years that I saw him last. Be was my first student at Wisdom Tree Home, and the one that left the most lasting imprint on my heart. I stumbled across a picture of him yesterday and floods of memories came back. Here is a poem I posted two years ago of him. I felt it would be appropriate to post it again.

*************

I miss you, I miss you, child of my heart

(Child that never really was mine)

Eyes so deep you’d think you’d drown

Drown in those tears of salty brine.

But child, child, I miss those hands

Brown and small that clung to my own

Clung to my hands and held to my heart

But now I hold alone.

************

The last time I saw you, child of mine

You looked so fragile and skinny and small

And I don’t know if I’ll ever again

Walk this way and hear you call

But child, child, I’ll never, forget

The way you hugged me that one last time

Child, I love you, no words can say

(Child that never really was mine).

-June 2015

10714025_1527824660830345_16333486320778606_o

 

Young Grief

ache, children, , , ,

I was very young, perhaps 4, when I first learned what it meant to cry for someone else.

Oh,  I was an expert when it came to crying. Even up to the age of about 7, I considered it a day of victory if I got through the day without the inevitable tear. But I remember distinctly the day I learned what it meant to feel someone else’s pain.

It was also on that day that I came to the realization that people don’t just hurt on the outside. They can also hurt on the inside.

The knowledge I gained that day shaped my life forever.

 

Young Grief

Cool and gray, clouds overhead;

Slip my young hand into my mother’s;

We walk to the big house

Sit in the rows and rows of people

Who are here because of the little girl

Littler than me

In the white dress

*****************

In the breathless room

I try to draw a deep breath

But there are too many people

********************************

I don’t understand.

The little girl has gone somewhere-

But I’m not sure why or how.

But I do know no one wanted her to go

So it’s sad and then people cry.

********************************

But my mother isn’t crying

And I ask her why

From deep inside the answer comes

“I’m crying on the inside.”

****************************

So I sit

And think about the little girl

Littler than me

In the white dress

Who has gone somewhere

And no one wanted her to go

And soon I too begin crying on the inside.

 

         Originally published in Echoes of Eternity

Homesick

Uncategorized, ,

Homesick….

I hesitate to write about this, because I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. I am not pining away and not eating and wasting into nothing. (more like the opposite).

My question is, why do we feel homesick? Or more correctly, why do I feel homesick? Why can’t I live to the fullest where I am right now instead of thinking of what used to be, and being pulled back to the past? Why can’t I embrace to the fullest this dream that has been God’s and mine for so long- serving Him where ever He leads? When I was at home, I was homesick for this country. Last year when I was here, I was homesick for home. Am I just some wavering, emotional person who can’t be satisfied with what God gives, or is there something deeper? Is there another reason I get homesick?

I know I’ve wrestled through this before, this feeling of longing for something that is no more. I went through it at the age of 16 when I left our home for a week to help my cousin with her newborn baby. That one week felt like a year. I cried every night, lost weight, and counted down the days until I could go home again. That was one week. One week!

Sometimes at times like this, especially in the morning, one little thing, or item, or thought, or word, can stir up a memory of things that used to be, and we long for those people again, and home, or even those other hardships that seem easier to bear now that they are in the past and time has smoothed away the pain. Childhood memories, things I haven’t thought about for ages, come rushing back. And yet, my question is, why, why, do I find it so hard to embrace the present, and live life to the fullest when I am in the moment, instead of waiting until it is past to realize how much it meant to me? Like right now, why can’t I embrace to the fullest what I am experiencing right now, instead of missing the things that are past?

And I wonder, where is home exactly?

Usually I try to tell myself, just get over it. Being homesick shows you don’t have the ability to live in the present, and you’re never satisfied or grateful with what you have. You’re not there, you’re here. Get over it. (that doesn’t really work.)

But then something else says, wait. Perhaps there is something deeper than what you are seeing now.

Perhaps the real reason we get homesick is because we really weren’t created to have this world as our home. We get homesick for our earthly home because deep inside, where perhaps we don’t even realize it, we are homesick for our real home, for what actually is reality. The home we’ll never leave once we get there.

And knowing this, I let myself grieve the past.

October, 2014

So often in the morning as I awake

In the early hours of the dawn

When snatches of a windblown dream

Dance on the edges of my awakening

My heart is turned to home

And fleeting sprites of memories

Wisp in and out of my thoughts

And my heart that is still not large enough

Aches with the loss of what it cannot have

And longs to embrace what it does have.

Then in the presence of these memories

That danced in my half-awakened dream

I give in to the pain of being mortal

And unable to understand it all

And then I bow my head, and let the… tears… fall…