The damn giants won’t stand still long enough for me to climb on their shoulders!
When I was 20 & they were 40,
I was never jealous of their success:
I knew I would catch up to them in time.
Now that I am 70 and some of them are 90, I doubt it…
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL
Our parents took us to their church four times
each week: on Sunday, twice, and then for prayer
on Wednesday night–on Thursdays they sang hymns
in choir rehearsal while one, two, three, four
of us played on, around, and under pews.
“You boys be quiet!” they would often say.
We learned to sing in Sunday School: “Jesus
loves me,” and “Hallelu Hallelujah!”
Soon all of us were singing in the choir…
Then we grew up, our parents aged and died.
One atheist, one pantheist, one pair
of liberal Presbyterians–none tied
to our folk’s Baptist faith, yet when we drink
we sing their songs in four-part harmony.
– little stevie shoemaker, urbana, il, july 6, 2013
Cowboys may ask forgiveness,
but never ask permission.
The house-movers had slid huge beams beneath
the floor joist after they used jacks to pry
our home off its foundation. Hauling with
a dirt-filled dump truck, a long chain would try
and pull the house still filled with chairs and beds
and dishes, glasses, breakfast cereal,
to our new farm ten miles down country roads.
…
Our house arrived intact, but neighbors still
will tell of cowboy-movers cutting trees
and posts of mail boxes with their chainsaw,
then handing out one hundred dollar bills
to angry folks before they called the Law.
…
The foreman said, “We never ask before
we move a house for someone might say no…”
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL
house-moving
a cub scout recalls
1948
was just six years old
my mom led the pack
(and taught sunday school)
i earned a wolf badge
wore a uniform
of bright blue and gold
1953
would soon be 12 years old
could become a boy scout
first father-son camp-out
dad took navy blanket
folded: my sleeping bag
dad was an eagle scout
but also a baptist
no more scouting for me
when dads drank at campfire
– Steve Shoemaker, traveling in Portugal with Port, June 20, 2013
This was sent by email at 1:51 A.M. today. 🙂
“AWAKE”
How do dreams of females differ
from the dreams of males? Is there less
violence, sex, and guilt? Or far more
children, infants, nursing? How does
pure biology control our
fantasy? Can Internet ads,
TV, product placement, billboards,
radio commercials sour
and infiltrate midnight madness?
Maybe it was just the pickles…
– June 13, 201 – Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL
Poet and guilt-free friend
AWAKE
I do not want to be awake. I wish,
instead my racing mind would shift into
a neutral gear, spin to a stop, rehash
no more today/tomorrow/yesterday.
I meditate, I take slow breaths, I say
the very first prayers that I ever knew…
I try to sing myself a lullaby,
but silently, so not to wake nearby
a gently sleeping soul who has it seems
a clear conscience and peaceful dreams.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, sent by email to Editor @12:25 a.m., June 11, 2013
EDITOR’S NOTE: Albert Camus said, “A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.”
Thanks you, Steve, for the art.
Verse — by Steve Shoemaker
We lug heavy bags of birdseed
from store to car to garage
steel storage can to feeders.
We keep squirrels away.
We watch the birds feast.
We fertilize and water and prune
the young fruit trees in the orchard
and see blossoms, then growing fruit.
Cherries are loved by birds and us.
Let birds eat seeds–nets mean pies.
Maybe we bumped our heads getting a little snack last night! And the night before that, and…. Will it ever stop?
by Gordon C. Stewart, written five weeks ago in flight from Minneapolis to Los Angeles…before we learned that Kay’s ankle was broken.
“Pay attention. Live in the moment. Don’t rush to be where you aren’t. Be right where you are.”
If, for instance, you’re on the stairs… well, watch your step!
This morning Kay and I rose early to catch a flight for a much-needed vacation on the coast of California. We’re excited about this trip, planned at the last moment in the aftermath of losing the dog companions who have been with us for all but the first month of our 14+ year marriage.
Lonely at home without Maggie and Sebastian, I called Kay last Thursday. “Let’s get out of here. The house is empty without them…but we now have freedom to travel. Let’s go somewhere fun.”
Fred, Kay’s colleague at work, said he knew just the place: Cambria, California, a four hour drive north of LA, one his favorite places on the California coast just south of Big Sur.
Within 24 hours we had booked the flights, found a beautiful home in Cambria through VRBO (“Vacation Rental by Owner”), and looked forward to flying out of Minnesota on Monday (today).
Yesterday, Susan Lince, a local artist who moved to Chaska two years ago after teaching Eskimo children in northern Alaska, led us through exercises to become more aware of the senses. Most important is being where you are….touching, tasting, smelling, hearing, seeing.
So…this morning…with Maggie and Sebastian gone, we packed our bags and headed downstairs to the garage.
I had gone first, packed most of the bags in the car, and was waiting for Kay. I assumed she had gone back to get something or to turn something off in the kitchen. I was wrong.
She had fallen down the steps – nine of them – carrying a suitcase I had missed. She came into my sight in the garage limping badly on the ankle that is severely sprained, at best, pulling the suitcase behind.
We iced the ankle and left home for the airport.
Right now we’re on Sun Country Airlines Flight 421 to Los Angeles. Kay has been treated royally since we arrived at the terminal. A wheelchair. Special privileges in getting through security without a line. A Sun Country Airlines attendant pushing her wheelchair and taking care of her needs while the husband who had forgotten the suitcase that contributed to her fall took care of his own bodily needs. The people at Gate 3 arranged for us to change seats so that Kay could have her own row of seats to keep her leg up during the flight.
So…Live in the moment. Touch, see, smell, hear, and taste where you are. And if you’re on your way to California, watch your step when you’re still in Minnesota. You could end up feeling the cold of an ice-pack on your ankle.
A dear friend sent an email about cause-weariness. She’s not alone in suffering an assault of email alarms and solicitations. She’s very conscientious and exhausted. I responded:
I, too, find myself increasingly angry. And that’s not a good thing. It’s right, but it’s not good for my soul. You have always been a tender, gentle, loving, musical person with that unique sense of humor, and this hits you hard, maybe harder than it hits me. I, too, am weary of all the emails and solicitations. They, too, have come to make me angry. “Just leave me alone!!!” I say to myself…and… out loud sometimes. “I’m not on your team. I’m not on anybody’s team. I don’t like teams. And stop treating me like one of the President’s best friends! He doesn’t know me from the man-in-the-moon, and, NO, you can’t get another $100 from me by peddling a raffle for lunch with the president! I don’t like gambling. Never have. Never will. Giving should be giving, not for purposes of getting.”
Anyway, you get my point.
I am torn between being a responsible disciple and citizen – staying abreast of current events and looking deeply into their meaning and the powers and principalities behind them – and living in the joy to which we are called.
I don’t know what to do either. I do know that you are one of God’s very precious children with a love of music and the arts. Listen to LOTS of music and spend time with beauty to off-set the ugliness.
Views from the Edge 