poem: what if every day was new year’s day?

Mindfulness on New Year's in the mountains.

january one
every year

a clarion call
for looking forward
for planning
lists
positive self-talk
and
promises to ourselves

does reflection
~ or regret ~
fuel this temporary
seasonal earnestness?

do we remember
to look back
to look forward?

do we savor today
~ in its beautiful imperfection ~
or overlook it
in our fervor
for tomorrow?

what if every day was new year’s day?

what if reflection on
~ what yesterday was ~
~ what today is ~
~ what tomorrow could be ~
happened every day?

what if every day was new year’s day?

The view from the back deck on New Year’s Day; a world in full color within our reach

© 2018 Glover Gardens

Random Thankful Lists

I am thankful for…

bright blue sunny skies

quiet and rainy afternoons

warm blankets on snowy nights

murder mysteries and PBS

guilty pleasures

wine by the fire

cooking with friends and family

food magazines

pepper(s) of all kinds

chocolate

hibiscus

stories

cast iron

Turner Classic Movies

brie

brown eyes

quiet and enlightening conversations

diversity

traveling to places familiar and unknown

health insurance

I am thankful for…

meaningful work

stimulating challenges

surprising opportunities

unexpected blessings

authentic hugs

spontaneous smiles

candor

tears of joy

having learned from mistakes

listening and being heard

mindfulness

I am thankful for…

music and musicians

birds and bird-watchers

cameras and photographers

poetry and poets

gardens and gardeners

books and writers

art and artists

chefs and restaurants

I am thankful for…

clever people

who make me laugh

warm and optimistic people

who give me hope

servant leaders who teach

creative minds 

that look at the world in new ways

smart people

who develop practical solutions

loyal friends 

colleagues

family (born and chosen)

unbreakable bonds

people who pray and people who do

soldiers, first responders and protesters

good and loving people of all kinds

who make the world better

in their own ways

I am thankful for…

cats who cradle

dogs that wag

mountains that loom majestic

snow that sparkles

sand on my toes

the roar of waves

aspen trees

honey bees

wildlife and wilderness

the wind in my face

I am thankful for…

curiosity

the wisdom of children

empathy

the friendship of strangers

faithfulness and forgiveness

acceptance and love

silence

independence

collaboration and community

free speech

joy

hope

I am thankful for…

faith of all kinds

I am thankful for…

memories

I am thankful for…

tomorrow

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that’s me, thankful for the camera, the snow, the birds and this amazing life

© 2018 Glover Gardens

Heart-Theater, an Elegy

memories crowd the stage of my heart-theater
the actors all dead
but for me

tears for them come unexpectedly

like gulls suddenly swooping
a perfect sand dollar found
a sudden rainstorm

i hear mom’s voice:
“buck up and carry on”

memories play in my heart-theater
the actors all dead
but for me

tears for them come unexpectedly

singing songs long forgotten
making family recipes
an old movie

i hear dad’s voice
“you can do this”

memories sweep through my heart-theater
the actors all dead
but for me

tears for them come unexpectedly

like a made-up kids’ language
stepping on a toy
a bicycle crash

i hear steve’s voice
“can you help me, boj?”

memories crowd the stage of my heart-theater
the actors all dead
but for me

.but.

joy from them comes unendingly

thriving in my heart-theater
their voices all trumpets
and whispers and hugs

Harvell Family

@ 2018 Glover Gardens

Haiku: Summer Reminiscence

Unable to sleep last night in advance of an international trip starting today – I still get excited – I found myself reminiscing about summers past. Warm breezes, long and lazy days, fireflies at night sparking their way into my dreams.

midsummer evenings
wind softly kissing my face
firefly dreams glowing

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Wishing you happy dreams and fireflies…

© 2018 Glover Gardens

Mountain Sunset Haiku and “Enviation”

purple serenity
soothing summer evening sky
clouds that drift and sigh

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Photo credit: Nancy L.

My friends stayed at Little House in the Rockies last weekend, and one of them snapped this lovely picture.

We get their photos from social media and feel oh-so-happy for them. But we also feel a little jealous because they’re there and we’re not. I like to call that feeling “enviation,” a mixture of envy and appreciation.

Enviation. That’s how I feel right now. I’d like to be on that porch at Little House in the Rockies, looking at that sunset, feeling the mountain air, shivering just a little.

© 2018, Glover Gardens

An Early, Bitter Tanshi from a Most Cheerful Girl

where o where
did you hide my anaconda?
i need that snake

Bitter over some teenage breakup, I wrote that tiny little poem in my high school journal. For some reason, it has always stuck with me; it’s so bitter and melodramatic that it makes me laugh.

I remember the poem but not the boy who broke my heart, which is probably as it should be.

I’ve just learned the term “tanshi,” which means “small poem” and I guess that’s what this is.

I’ve never liked snakes and probably just used the word anaconda because it sounded cold-blooded and mean. I just looked them up and there’s no way I could use an image of that scary-looking reptile here in the annals of Glover Gardens. I’ll probably dream about anacondas because of the few I just saw on Google, eating large mammals. Yuck.

But I have to have an image for the post. So I found a picture of myself from that period, a scan of a yearbook photo someone uploaded to Facebook. I was the female winner of “Most Cheerful”. Yep. Not “Most Likely to Succeed”, “Most Popular” or even “Most Likely to Start a Blog in Her Late 40s”. But now, I’ll take it! I love being known as a cheerful person. I chose this picture to balance out the bitter tone of the tanshi, the sting of the anaconda. I really was a happy kid. Still am.

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No anacondas were harmed in the creation of this post, and no, that boy is not the one that broke my heart.

© 2018, Glover Gardens

 

 

I didn’t know you, Anthony Bourdain.

I didn’t know you, Anthony Bourdain.

But you made a difference to me.

Your book, Kitchen Confidential, made me laugh out loud. Its relentless and brutal honesty also gave me complete certainty that I made the right choice by not going into the business of food and letting cooking for others remain a beloved hobby.

Your curiosity and wanderlust were inspiring. The world is a big, wonderful and fabulously interesting place, and your intense hunger for knowledge and new experiences tantalized and nourished me, along with so many others.

The headlong-headstrong way you embraced – and even exalted – peasant and street food helped me to embrace and exalt some of the more humble food in my own family’s background.

I didn’t know you, Anthony Bourdain.

But I’ve struggled with your death.

I’ve been silent for a few days trying to process it.

My brother made the same choice you did, Anthony. He took his own life.

I’ve been silent – and not-silent – for almost five years trying to process it.

There’s an army of people out there just like me who are struggling with your death from a duality of emotions.

There’s the sense of loss from the abrupt ending of your huge contribution to the canons of travel, food and cultural understanding, and a reluctant but absolutely unavoidable comparison to our own unwelcome experiences with the savage, raw, rollercoaster aftermath of suicide.

We mourn you with already-broken hearts, Anthony. There’s a seat at the table that shouldn’t be empty yet.

We cringe and weep for your loved ones, who will struggle for years to understand.

We wish it was different. We know it will never be the same.

I didn’t know you, Anthony Bourdain.

I wish I had.

You made a difference to me. To many.

Today I join the chorus of voices, each mourning your death and celebrating your life in their own way.

Your egalitarian outlook, voracious appetite and adventurous spirit made the world’s menu so much bigger for so many.

Thank you for that, Anthony. I hope you’ve found peace. I hope my brother has found peace. I pray that your family and loved ones will someday find peace and acceptance.

It takes a long, long time.


And for anyone else out there who has read this far and struggles with depression and hopelessness like Anthony, my brother, and so many others, below is a repeat of a ragged little poem I wrote, a plea for you to reach out. The original post is here: My Brother’s Suicide: Out of the Darkness and Into the Light.

 

A Suicide Prevention Poem: Out of the Darkness and Into the Light

please hear my plea

if you are out there somewhere

in the dark

considering taking control of your life

by taking your life

please tell someone

just one person

let one person know

that you are at risk

in the dark

and sad

and feeling alone and desperate and unloved

please hear my plea

know that the people who have always loved you

still do

always will

know that your current situation

in the dark

doesn’t have to be

your permanent situation

there’s no death sentence for mistakes or regret

unless you pass it on yourself

please hear my plea

reach out to the light

please tell someone

just one person

let one person know

that you are at risk

in the dark

and sad

and feeling alone and desperate and unloved

you’ll never know

unless you reach out

that you can live in the light again

we’ll never know we can help

unless you tell someone

just one person

let one person know

we’ll never know

that we could have been

the light in your darkness

please hear my plea:

you matter to someone

he mattered to me

© 2018 Glover Gardens

A Mother’s Poem on Mothers’ Day

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the very best thing
that i ever did
was to procreate
(to have a kid)

the world is different
and much more real
my investment’s bigger
(a serious deal)

i watch in awe as
his life gathers steam
he acts on his instincts
(follows his dream)

no words can capture
the simple pure joy
i feel as a parent
(the mom of this boy)

enormous blessings
i take from his youth
he shows me new worlds
(unexpected truths)

the very best thing
that i ever did
was to procreate
(to have a kid)

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© 2018 Glover Gardens

Spring is Calling

O Spring,

you call to me ~

with your cheeky ways

and lengthening days,

your budding flowers

and pop-up showers.

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Scentimental Floribunda rose from Glover Gardens

O Spring,

you call the trees ~

with your gentle breeze

tickling soft new leaves,

basking in sun-bright,

peaceful in moonlight.

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Cherry tree at the Jardin des Champs Élysées in Paris

O Spring,

you call the birds ~

tiny nests built strong,

their answering song

guiding fledglings’ flight

in the morning light.

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O Spring,

keep calling out ~

as long as we breathe, 

we’ll keep answering ~

the birds, the trees and me.

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Bright green spring aspen near Little House in the Rockies (Colorado)

© 2018, Glover Gardens

 

 

 

 

Haiku: A Room of Her Own

This artist’s studio, a room preserved as it was at one time at the Museum of Montmartre in Paris, inspires me. I knew when I first saw it that I wanted a room like this.

a room of her own
(where the self can be known)
is a treasure

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More to come on this topic as the room of my own becomes a reality.

© 2018, Glover Gardens