I’ll be there for three days the end of July and then moving on to 3 weeks in Annecy (the Venice of the Alps) with daughter and granddaughters. Can’t wait!
Paris…..
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Category Archives: Karen Stephen Author
Moving On
Not too many days ago,
my mind developed a mind of her own.
It happened almost the very second that my eyes read
that sappy online blog.
You can make a choice about moving on.
I, as usual, rejected the pop psychology blather.
Sure, I said in my best know-it-all sarcastic voice.
I’ve tried for six years, count ‘em, six years,
With help, without help,
praying, ranting, practicing the old fake it ‘til you make it.
All to no avail.
But, somewhere inside my head, I repeated the corny line
with the perfunctory obedience of a stubborn child.
Instantly, my mind,
which had spent a lifetime lurking unseen, unheard,
somewhere inside my left parietal lobe,
came to life and grabbed on to the new revolutionary idea.
In a flurry of celebration, my mind shouted,
We’re moving on? Awesome!
I’m so sick of thinking those same useless thoughts,
so bored with your futile wishing and hoping.
How many times are you going to make me plod through the same daydream,
the one with your version of a happy ending,
the one that gets rid of the wife and his bad habits,
the one that rights all the wrongs,
and vindicates six years of avoiding reality?
At the same time my mind seemed to have compassion for
the five year old me,
the child inside who still wonders why Daddy left,
why no one asked her to the prom,
why the years without love have far outdistanced
any moments of bliss, and
who still wants her fairy tale ending.
But now that my mind has finally spoken up
And has convinced me that torturing her
isn’t going to solve my problems,
I can’t seem to go back.
The fact that the very next day I had not one but two offers for
coffee and conversation, and a third close on their heels,
added a karmic underscore.
As with all things
life rummages about and finds
chinks in the armor of even our
best intentions and insights.
The cancelling of one offer,
a disappointing turn of events with the other,
and tears surged over the spillway of my cheeks,
creating deep gouges of despondency.
Thoughts of revenge clamored for my attention,
pounding on the door of my mind
with a battering ram of malevolence.
A full out assault demanding
justice for wrongs done.
My mind, without comment, declined to cooperate.
Once liberated,
out of patience with my lifetime of self-pity,
of conjuring up happiness in my head
instead of creating it in my real life,
my mind refused to send the emails that would
illuminate then destroy their lives.
Then, she sat with me on the edge of the bed
until the gush of tears turned to a drowsy drop or two,
coaxed me under the covers and
lullabied me to sleep.
Upon waking this morning,
she got me dressed and fed,
sat me down to write this poem,
put on my make up
and shuffled me out the door
for lunch with prospect number three.
No promises, she reminded me,
but nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Oh, please!
But out the door I went.
Moving on.
Awesome!
Tales of Womanhood.
Stunningly perfect for these days and times. Stronger than a mister for sure! Thank you, Raina. A Poet for this age.
Flight of the Soul ~ A video poem for recovery
I have flown on Southwest to San Diego many times. During one flight, it came to me that perhaps I needed to be on a very different kind of journey and Flight of the Soul was the result. Now I have turned it into a video poem for those in recovery of any kind.
For more poems for recovery visit this page.
Dreaming in the new year…a video poem for recovery
Last Sunday I took an inspirational course from Kai Carlson-Wee, a Jones Lecturer in Poetry at the Stanford University Creating Writing Program, on Moving Images. It inspired me to take my poems for recovery and begin turning each of them into video poems. And as we learned in his workshop, the music, images, and words can infuse each other with new meaning, new directions, and a more exciting creative experience. My first effort,appropriately enough, is Dreaming Into the New Year.
Enjoy the video poem version.
Thoughts on a dream of a lifetime…
Quote from a Twelve Step daily reader:
When I say to myself that I am going to turn all my problems over to God, this does not give me leave to shirk my responsibilities. I have been given certain tools with which to run my life, and the free will to use them. They include judgment, intelligence, good will and the power to reason. Perhaps much of my trouble stems from having misused these tools. Judgment may have been warped by resentment, my intelligence by failure to face issues honestly. Good will can be lost when we are unable to be tolerant of the faults of others. The power to reason can be dulled when we fail to detach ourselves from the emotional content of a problem.
When I am desperate enough to ask for help, I will not expect it to come in the form of easy solutions. I must play a part in solving my problems, but my HP will provide the guidance and strength to take the right action.
My thoughts on this passage, November, 2016:
I need to use the tools I’ve been given. Too often my judgment has been warped by resentment when I’ve envied others and by neediness when I’ve want MORE than has been my portion. My intelligence has been underused when I failed to face issues honestly and try to substitute fantasy for reality. My good will has been lost when I refused to tolerate the faults of others or forgive them as God has forgiven me. My power to reason disappeared every time I let my emotions override my good sense. And I certainly have expected easy solutions.
Getting past a lifetime “dream” does not come easily. The “dream” lingers but like thousands of diehard Cubs fans who lived out their lives without achieving their dream of a World Series win, I may live out my life without my dream of finding a life partner coming true. But that doesn’t mean those fans didn’t go to the games, cheer on their team, live the rest of their lives to the best of their ability, even though that one big dream didn’t come true. So I can keep playing the game, leave myself open to another season of loss, and cheer myself on for the efforts I do make. I can work on becoming a better player—healthier, stronger, more sociable. I can choose not to be resentful when other teams win, some of them over and over. And in the meantime, I can stop making the game of finding a life partner my focus. I can live my life fully with work and family, with faith and friends. And maybe I will look down from heaven one day, as those many departed Cubs fans did, and see my grandchildren or great grandchildren finding life partners and win that relationship World Series that I never won. And perhaps they will think of me in that moment, and I will watch with a grateful heart and tears of joy as they raise a toast to me at their weddings and thank me for being a Grandma that helped them be the people they were created to be, willing and able to make good choices for life partners. And then I’ll hoist a beer and join those Cubs fans in heaven in a round of Take Me Out to the Ballgame!
A good whining day
I usually don’t whine on my blog but today is a good whining day. Have a terrible cold this week which isn’t fun to begin with. Then last night, there was a sudden drip, drip, drip from the ceiling in the living room of my new condo. Out went the buckets which held me until this morning when a crew of construction workers came, packed up the living room and proceeded to rip out one third of the ceiling. Don’t have a definitive diagnosis yet but they think it’s coming from the roof two floors up. Someone had the bright idea that a roof replacement on my condo building was a good idea in the rainy season!
Here’s the whiny part. My daughter and son-in-law are off at the Aulani in Oahu this week. Having just turned 73 and being alone doesn’t help. A bit of envy for those women who have life partners for just this kind of household emergency. All right, I know, I know. Some of those guys wouldn’t lift a finger to help even if they are around.
Now for the gratitudes. The cold is improving. My son and daughter and friends all texted their condolences. I can still watch the Cubbies in the den this evening. I have enough food in the house to last a couple of days. And I certainly am not in the position of those in this world who are really suffering from hunger, illness, and other deprivations. Thank you, God.
The nature of GOODBYE – a poem
GOODBYE starts as a word
shot from the lip
penetrating reluctant ears
ripping through soft tissues
creating internal wounds
more felt than seen
leaving a bloody splatter of rejection
upon the soul
GOODBYE registers in the brain
as an alien thought
a foreign invasion
a disruptor of dreams
GOODBYE leaves a residue of grief which
pollutes the present
sullies the past and
relegates the future to a
rubbish heap of
broken promises
GOODBYE repels all attempts to
breach its impregnable walls
with reason or
understanding or
new beginnings
GOODBYE remains dormant
a chronic infection
that lurks in every cell
waiting to break out into
tears and wailing
GOODBYE has no antidote
nor immunization
to protect humanity
from its sting
but fade it can
and fade it will
as seconds tick away to
minutes
hours
days
weeks
years
until a new hello
seems possible
Retro bistro: Éric Lanlard’s ‘proper’ quiche Lorraine
What wonderful ways to celebrate and educate about diversity in the workplace.
Good and Evil on my dresser top
Faces not so different
Both gnarled with age
My fairy godmother and my necromancer
Posed in uncomfortable juxtaposition on my dresser top
Meticulously carved expressions
Wide-eyed rosy-cheeked Good
Dark-lipped deceptively malevolent Evil
Both in exquisite garb
Good in pink paisley leggings
Evil with spangled bloomers tucked stylishly into ebony boots
Nevermore perched in a cage upon her arm
Good a flutter of diaphanous wings
Evil awash in a black veil with silvery spider clasp
Both reminding me that I have grown old with them
That this very day marks my seventy-third year of dancing between the two
At times inhabiting a world of pink froth—helping others, bringing children into the world, trying to be a loving mother and grandmother, a faithful friend
At other times donning a darker habit, thinking myself quite justified in self-centered pettiness, harboring hateful, revengeful thoughts over what I consider life’s injustices
And so, they sit in judgment upon my dresser, looking down on me
Reminding me that each moment of each day
I have a choice between good and evil
Dr. Karen Stephen aka Doc Flamingo 