Hers may be lacy, but this you can mark,
Even if sweat pants, it’s always a lark:
He can take hers off quickly,
And when she turns prickly,
Big buttons on his she can find in the dark!
In their 40s,
Unlikely to change
No classical music concerts, please,
No Church services
Unless visiting us.
Yes, they cheer the right teams,
Eat healthy, drink moderately,
Have chosen good mates,
Love children and pets,
Earn a good living.
How much do we want?
…and I Eat Lifesaver ™ Candy
The Doc said pancreatic Cancer,
No more a geriatric Dancer,
But may the gods bless her,
My Yoga instructor
Gives only a lifesaving Answer!
[Several of my friends practice
Yoga as well as Lutheran.
Presbyterian, or Episcopalian!]
It may mean nothing when you see
The tears, or when you hear the voice
Begin to catch and whisper. The
Strong drugs for pain remove the poise
And self control. Emotions rule.
Or
The patient, for some reason, may
Regret the loss of family
And friends… Feel sorrow not to stay
In this the known world, possibly
The only world. Hope fades, Faith flees.
Note: Views from the Edge followers recall that Steve was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer in November with death expected no later than mid-January. He’s outlived the original prognosis by a month. His home on the Illinois plains has become a hotel for family and friends from around the world.
Steve posted this verse last night on his CaringBridge page. The sentence that introduced it said:
[Bad day. 2nd in a row. I’ll try to be funny tomorrow…]
Steve Shoemaker
Our parents clearly could control our births:
Each one of us born three and a half years
After the other–boys, four boys… Our baths
Could hold two squirrelly kids, but always tears
Would start to stream, if three or more. Now all
Of us at sixty-two to seventy-three
Swim in our own oceans at home, but still
Can shower at the beach house by the sea
In our own room. Our ten grand-kids will scream
As they run up and down the halls, fly kites,
Stomp through the castles in the sand, and dream
Of being oldest, strongest–win the fights
That always happen when the cousins dart
Around–all born three or four years apart.
NOTE: Steve and his his brothers are together this weekend in Urbana, still three and a half years apart! But very much together.
Sunday Morning Chimes
Three Church bells ring in Philo,
The Catholic Mass is first,
The Presbyterians
Are next, then Martin
Luther takes his stand.
The steeples point like preachers
To blue sky up above
But storms will soon be coming
If we don’t act with love
And follow that sweet dove.
Yes, Jesus is our teacher,
We hear his bell ring true,
you sound and I am singing
You speak and I speak, too.
Bells ring for me and you.
Wednesday evening three old friends from Texas, Arizona, and northern Illinois descended on the Shoemaker home in Urbana, IL to sing their own semi-humorous re-write of the traditional Epiphany hymn We Three Kings. They concluded by presenting gold, frankincense, and myrrh to our mutual friend Steve Shoemaker. There’s a video of the trio on Steve’s FaceBook page for those want to watch and sing along. Steve, diagnosed with terminal cancer, is feeling remarkably well – even got up to make oatmeal for the guys the next morning!
EPIPHANY 2016
A Tribute to the Rev. Dr. Steve Shoemaker (Harry Lee Strong)
(Tune: Three Kings of Orient; John Henry Hopkins, 1857)
We three friends from north, south, and west
Gather here as your grateful guests.
Pardon our singing – gifts we are bringing,
Just hoping not to be pests.
O … Husband, father, poet, bard:
How we loathe your journey hard!
If we could, you know we would
Make this damn disease retard!
It’s so good to see you again
Here at home on your Illinois plain,
Still with humor, despite tumors,
Teaching to die is to gain.
O … Talk show host and scholar bright:
Few compete with your great height!
On the air and through your care,
Keepin’ Faith both day and night.
Only God can possibly know
How many lives you’ve enabled to grow:
Words and actions, breaking down factions,
Allowing your light to show.
O … Classmate, preacher, prophet bold:
No respect do we withhold!
From our coffers we now offer
Frankincense and myrrh and gold.
It’s dark and drear on the way
to Bethlehem where relatives
abound with rooms to spare
to welcome our coming.
Why are the lights all out,
the doors locked, the knocks
unanswered, no candles lit for
us from out of town?
Has news of the coming illegitimate
child scared them off, driven them
way inside bolted doors named fear
and blame and shame?
Has the buzz been mean, the
relatives praying to stay clean
of bedsheets soiled of a bastard
birth and bloody after-birth?
Have the men in town gathered
stones and the women
shrunk back from mid-wifing
Mary’s child into life?
A flop house on the other side
of town welcomes us with fires
outside the barn for black
sheep guests from Nazareth.
after christmas the tree puked
needles the cat even ignored ornaments
the smudgy guilty fingerprints
enhanced the window glass
about two feet up with proof
of candy eaten frosting licked
from fingers and dog nose prints
mixed in for the seurat effect
while good people slept the sleep
of the over-indulged oblivious to the
recent refugees while focusing
on their personal holy family
Detail from Seurat’s La Parade de Cirque (1889), showing the contrasting dots of paint used in Pointillism, Metropolitan Museum of Art
NOTE: I, Gordon, not as well educated as Steve, had to look up ‘seurat’. Click HERE for information on George Seurat, the 19th Century painter known for introducing chromoluminarism and pointillism. and to get the drift of Steve’s upbeat poem. Though not feeling well these days, as noted elsewhere on Views from the Edge and on his CaringBridge page, Steve continues to amaze with his sardonic sense of humor in the face of the eventual eulogy.
Today three close mutual seminary friends from Texas, Arizona, and Illinois meet at Chicago’s Midway Airport and drive to Urbana for a short visit with Steve, Nadja, and their confused dog, Blazer. Blessings and peace to Don Dempsey, Bob Young, Harry Strong, Steve, Nadja, and Blazer.
Steve Shoemaker welcoming President Bill Clinton
I’ve been bald quite a while to the North,
But luxuriant beard’s round my mouth.
The Chemo’s relentless,
And soon I’ll be beardless,
And I never again will glance South…
Views from the Edge 