In the silver of the night

In the silver of the night there sometimes is the smell of soup, and soap, and being on top of the ground.

When one's life changes like the energy or like the light that consumes us in winter with its lack.

We might weep, or we might laugh, or we might touch one another but in a sense not described until

The event occurs that is life changing that is temporal. Until the event occurs. Then we look out and see what we must see.

Like carving out a dinner, we see it. We might be aghast we did not see it coming like a truck. But we see it. We must appreciate the change. The change will speak to us. It will speak.

The Dad thing

Hey ya cherubs:

I have been missing my Dad. I am not exactly sure why. But I watched a film where the Dad figure was time traveling and popping in and out of the daughter's life. I guess, that's where I am now and where I was.

My Dad was always popping in and out of my life. He was there sometimes when I needed him and not there sometimes when I needed him.

Sometimes, my dreams include him and sometimes not. Sometimes I miss him so much and sometimes I don't even think of him.

I don't know what all this means. Daughters think about their dads. They just think about them in a way and you have to kind of accept it I guess. So there it is. I wish he could suddenly appear sometimes and fix stuff. He did appear at one time in my young life and pick up my stuff and make it all better. But he's gone now, and he can't fix stuff anymore. I sure wish he were here sometimes. He knew my daughter but not in her adulthood. She's a cool person in her adulthood and I kind of wish both my parents could have known her that way. I really like my kid in her young adulthood. I really like her. Dad, I miss you. I miss you so much.

Blessings upon you dear cherubs. Blessings upon you.

M.

What the White Mountains of NH can do to you.

Dearest cherubs:

Those of you who know me best, know that I am not a Wordsworth person. I don't write poems about "here we go gathering nuts in May". Nature, for the most part, bores me. It's people that interest me. Yet, when I am seeking peace, when I am seeking contentment, when I am seeking some kind of center, that's when I call my good friends who live near base of Mt. Washington and ask if I can visit.

They have a most wonderful house, but that is not why I ask to visit them. They have a wonderful social connection with the North Country, but that is not why I ask to visit them. They have a wonderful connection with a church near there, which is ecumenical and welcoming, but that is not why I ask to visit them.

I ask because I think that they know that they live in a place that radiates peace and that I need that peace.

In the morning, sometimes, I rise before my hosts and I walk on their deck, or sometimes down towards the river that flows near their property. The mountains, the river and the forest all contribute to some kind of peaceful existence which is born of acceptance of what nature exacts from those who choose to live near it.

The most fun I have there, is talking with them. But I can't deny, that my walks in their orchard, of sorts, sooths my soul in such a way that no other place can do, except Little Diamond Island in Portland, ME. Little Diamond Island is the only other place in my life that affords the same peace.

Why do I rail against Wordsworth then? Why do I reject nature? What is it that I cherish that nature seems to rebel against? I guess it is only that I value civilization. I feel that my friends have so completely embraced nature and civilization in such a way that allow both to be embraced. And I admit to complete and utter jealousy that they have done this.

To be honest, I have often wished for a helicopter. I would live in the woods, and yet, have a way to get to the city. The city to me, is a panacea for my ills. And the blessed north woods of New Hampshire, is a panacea for my ills. And how, my most dearest cherubs, shall I reconcile them?

I end with a small joke. To me camping is best when defined as a bed and breakfast with view. That is what my friend's house is, in a sense. It's a bed and breakfast with a view. Yet they endure the NH North Country winters with grace. They bring their civility to the world. And I seem to keep mine close to Boston, where perhaps I hope it will bear fruit.

Warmly and with all my love, dearest cherubs, I send my latest post.

An August Poem

I am looking at him with my mind's eye, Ceaser Augustus -- his breath creasing the air with its mist, its cutting edge.

I walked along the stones he walked along and I thought of him.

I do not know what to say to him. But I knew he fought a good fight. He was not a good man, in our modern sense. But he was a leader.

I walked under the arches created by his uncles and by his grandfathers.

Arches we must understand even though we do not understand them now.

Understanding is a bad word. We cannot measure it. What does "understand" mean? We cannot know.

Ceaser Augustus, I feel you close by. We live this summer month named for you. And there is life beyond this month Ceaser. There is life beyond this month.

Stuff I have figured out

Hello dearest cherubs:

I have figured out that nobody cares, really. And that's ok. It's just the way it is.

I have figured out that I am a good poet. I am not sure anybody in the literary world cares. Please see statement number one.

I have figured out that although death really sucks, by the time somebody gets to the end, it's a blessing in disguise.

I have figured out that we all depend upon one another whether we like it or not. I don't like it. But nobody really cares. See statement number one.

I have figured out that there is a life after death. I assure you this has nothing to do with religion. It just has a meaning for me having experienced so much death and so much life.

I have figured out that wine is food. Nothing in the world will ever change that. Wine is food.

I have figured out that when we bring children into this world, we bring trouble. Children are worth the trouble.

I have figured out that I don't know anything, really, I don't know anything. I wish I knew more.

I have figured out that learning goes on forever. And when we stop learning, we die.

I have figured out that love takes so many forms, it is impossible to name them all and thank goodness for that.

I have figured out that when people say that youth is wasted on the young they are both right and wrong at the same time.

I have figured out that those who care for others, must be careful to care for themselves.

I have figured out that if I win the lottery, I will have to toss dice to see who's life I will save.

I have figured out that my abandonment was my ultimate release.

I have figured out that stuff that people hate, is stuff that people do to themselves.

Here is my post for your consideration, my dearest and most beloved cherubs.

Therefore

Therefore, there is great hope although how this is achieved is unknown and how it is perceived is unknown.

Therefore, there are realizations which are arrived at in such a way that it would be impossible for us to untangle them.

Therefore there is a terrible and unmitigated sadness, which may never again be relieved or misconstrued or be blamed for its damage.

Therefore, there is leadership and one who brings home the march which causes us to march behind, whether or not we know why.

Therefore, there is love, which will never be understood, not even in the course of a millenia.

Therefore, there is terrible suffering. I do not know why.

Therefore, I have the feeling that every so often, I have reached something that I cannot name or define or forswear or defend. Perhaps it is the truth.

Therefore, I have hope.

For Noble

Dearest Cherubs:

So, my cousin is gone, a victim of pancreatic cancer. We will all miss him very much.

But dearest cherubs, I hear him in my head all the time. He laughs at me. He always did, not in an unkind way, but in a way that always reminded me of the absurdity of life. His last text to me was as follows "don't check anything". hahahha I must explain.

I wrote on my status on Facebook, that I was headed to the White Mountains for the Memorial Day weekend and that I would not have cell service (for that pretty much cuts out halfway up Rt. 16 to Jackson, NH due to the mountains) but that I would be checking Facebook and e-mail from time to time. Not long after I had posted this status -- his text came in -- "don't check anything". hahahha I heard him as best I could, although I did check. But I heeded his words which I think had to do with appreciating where I was and who I was with, at that time and place. I think he was trying to tell me to live in the moment.

Noble's thoughts were often cryptic. His opinions were often only understood by people who thought differently about life and about society. My mother adored him, my father played chess with him and often resigned as Noble's chess game was hard to beat.

My favorite story about him was when he, Allyson and I were studying at Ana Roje's studio in what was then Yugoslavia. Thank you Aunt Neta for granting me that opportunity.

I must explain to the non-dancers reading this post. When you are a young girl studying dance, you have the floor to yourself for most of your training. You struggle alone at the barre, in the centre, and nobody is in your space. Other dancers are around you, but mostly, your space is your own. But when your learn to dance with a partner, all of a sudden, your space is no longer your own. All of a sudden, a man's hands are in your space and it's quite disconcerting. Noble was my first partner. He made me laugh almost constantly as I was making this adjustment. "Damn it Margaret", he would say. "Would you just wipe that ballerina look off your face!" "Damn it for Christ's sake, just let me hold you up, I won't drop you, I won't let you fall, Jesus Christ!"

I still remember his hands on my torso turning me around and around and telling me that "he was in charge of how many times I turned and I should just get used to it damn it!"

LOL the biggest problem was not laughing in the middle of an exercise!

Even in my head now, Noble is still making me laugh.

I have the impression that he is just getting a big kick out of this death thing. Perhaps this is the way I am comforting myself in my grief, but I still hear his laughter.

I know how much he loved his wife, his daughter, his mother, his mother-in-law, his sister and all his friends. I know how much he wanted to stay. He stayed as long as could. He stayed beyond his daughter's student performance, and but not beyond his sister's birthday. He stayed with us as long as he could. I hope he will forgive me for my tears. I will miss him so very much, that it is almost impossible to say.

I remember his hands on my waist turning me around and around "Jesus Christ Margaret will you relax"! I will try to relax Noble. I will remember you always.

Thank you dear cherubs, as always, for listening.

If you hope

My cherubs:


What can one say? The rain it comes. The bad news, it comes. But you have to keep on with the hope thing. Well, perhaps you don't have to, but it's advisable that you do.


Personally, I'm not sure to whom I'm talking when I send my thoughts elsewhere you know what I mean?


There's a wonderful book by Michael Shertlove called "Audition" in which he states that when actors ask questions of nobody, they are speaking to "he/she who must have all the answers".

So I am speaking to he/she who must have all the answers. You cast eyes upwards and do the best you can. I'm not exactly sure why you cast your eyes upwards, but I think one must to be sincere you see. At least that's the tradition.


Mostly, I want to hold my friend's hand and try to share the pain. Mostly, I am not in a position to do this. I'm working, or mothering, or exwifing, or roommateing, or something that causes me not to be in a position to be helpful. I try to remember during these times that this is not about me. This is about my friend. But still the guilt cuts deeply.


There is a painful but deeply real poem written by Robert Frost called "Out Out--" in which the last line is "And they, since they were not the one dead, turned to their affairs".



Sometimes, you are too close to things to write. And sometimes, you are too far away. But still one must hope.



Because after the worst happens, we will turn to our affairs. Because that's all we can do. We really have no other choice. We cannot go on and on about things that cannot be changed. I reach out as best I can and then, when the shit hits the fan, you just swallow, hug, weep, write poems, write blog entrys and wonder to yourself why, oh why does this shit happen?



Ah, this we wonder. Why? I do not expect to receive an answer. But hope, hope is eternal, ubitquitous, and present in our lives to keep us from attempting to end our lives in utter despair over that which cannot be changed.



She/he who must have the answers. Speak up, speak up dammit! I'm listening!



Bless you all cherubs most dear to me. M.

Just Start

Precious cherubs:

Do you think you can't accomplish what you set out to accomplish? Do you think you feel abused, down trodden, overlooked, underappreciated, unloved, ignored, wiped out?

Just start.

Do you think you can't get the thing done? Do you think there's nobody to support you? Do you think you are being handed a recipe for failure? Do you think there's somebody out to get you?

Just start.

Do you think that government sucks? Do you think that you are entitled to what you aren't getting? Do you think that the two-party systems is dysfunctional?

Just start.

I am now just in the most negative, fearful, frightening, and overwhelming part of my life that I have ever experienced in my 54 years. But here's the problem. I haven't started. This is MY fault, this is nobody else's fault. I am completely fearful and I have been giving into my fear.

Just start everybody. Just take one step, like the one I took in the doctor's office the other day. That's when I found out that I would be able to walk again, not soon, but not so very far away either.

Just start. How bad could it be? Could it be worse than what's going on now? I repeat this to myself often. I hope soon, I can find the courage to start.

Just start.

Warmly, Margaret

Oy, another broken ankle post

Ok you dearest cherubs:

One of the things that happens when you damage part of your body, is that you spend time thinking about the time when your body wasn't damaged. I have been thinking about that time.
I was in ballet class every day. I was in class every day when I was training (sometimes twice or three times) and I was in class every day when I was dancing professionally.

For those of you who may not understand, when you are a professional dancer, daily class is a must. As Rudolf Nureyev said "it's boring", but it's necessary. If you don't keep the muscles in shape they won't be in shape.

So when I began my physical therapy for this broken ankle, they put me on the exercise bike. It was unbelieveably painful. I mean, you guys, it was really ummm painful. But I pedaled. I kept pedaling. I'm no hero, not like any of the Olympic athletes you are seeng on TV. But I pedaled. The therapist would stop by every so often while I pedaled and see the tears on my cheeks, but I pedaled. And at one point, she said, you don't have to cry. And I told her yes, yes I do have to cry. This hurts but this is what is necessary at this time. She smiled at me. I could not pedal without crying. And so crying was necessary.

So, this short post is to tell you all, sometimes, crying is ok. And you never know how much what you have already undergone in your life prepares you for what you must face. How much pain ballet causes is how much pain must be undergone from time to time.

I am no hero or heroine. But I will pedal the bike until my foot is well, and then, I hope to walk again.

I appreciate all your good thoughts. Warmly, and with love.

Margaret

What the heck is up?

Dearest, dearest cherubs:

Yes, there are two dearests in there. I have been thinking of you all.

I have been thinking about my life which seems to have taken up an interesting challenge. How to get around with one foot incapacitated?

But you know it's not so much the foot that is bothering me. It's the state of the world that's bothering me. I just picked up my yellowed newspaper which I carefully saved after President Obama's election. What in the world is everybody so danged unhappy about I wonder?

Ok, I usually do not care for one sided opinions. Opinions should be fueled by fact and careful research into both sides etc.

There are no easy answers to anything, there are no easy fixes. When, oh when will Americans figure this out?

Do you expect a president to cure your economic ills? I have some advice for you. Go back to school! I suggest you aquire a credential. I suggest you learn some stuff. I suggest you face the fact that manufacturing in America is done and get on with your life. We are making the transition to a global economy. It's not done yet. It will hurt for a long time. It will hurt and it will stink and you will get angry. But think about this -- the solution is up to YOU.

It's often what I say to women who come to me with problems about men. There are no white knights on horses. Get over it. Your happiness is up to you.

I don't know if I will lose my job. But if I do, getting a new job will be up to me and it will be nobody elses problem. I will be frightened I'm sure. I will be emotional, I'm sure.

I am emotional now. I am a former ballet dancer with a foot that no longer will ever, I mean ever, function as it did. But for heaven's sake it's not President Obama's fault. It's not the fault of the MBTA who had black ice on the curb at the Franklin/Dean station. It was just an ACCIDENT. We use that word because stuff happens that we can't predict. Stuff just happens.

We must have a sense of history. For quite a few years, we allowed excesses to happen in the financial markets. We allowed it (and you can't blame the government, because they are us, and we are them) and why did we allow it? Because people were making money hand over fist, that's why we allowed it.

You all know it. You all used your houses like banks. We all did it. We need to get over it and do the learning that must be done.

My friend Lou Longo speaks often of responsibility. You may not like the consequences of what has happened. But if we all take responsibility, then we can be like the great generation after World War II that Tom Brokaw writes about. We will recover and we can teach our children how to recover.

I'm just thinking out loud as usual my dearest cherubs. Thanks so much for listening.

All my love to all of you.

Latest Poems

Hello dear cherubs:

Some of you have inquired about my latest poems, so here are a couple of them. Enjoy!

Frozen

The somnambulists walking through the maze and it was just like every other morning except

This time there was an ambulance picking and tearing its way through and so we waited on a small piece of cement.

We stood there and watched the gentle edging of cars and cell phones barely hearing. The ear buds clearing out the gloom.

I fixed my eys on the bus.

The ambulance was gone.

The woman walked.

She walked as if there was nothing in the world to protect her, as if there was nothing in her way or worries or life or lights.

I cried out.

I might have said "stop, or wait, or watch out". I don't remember.

I remember crying out and then my eyes fixed on the bus driver whose window was open.

His face ashen beneath his black face. Our eyes locked.

The woman walked on. And so did I.

___________________

This is an older poem. But I like it, so here it is.

Random

A night worth waking with questions.

I float you see.

I wander and touch things -- the diamond eyeball TV stares back at me, it's 3 AM.

Not worried, not aching, not tense but there are so many ideas.

One hopes one is halfway through but you never know it could be near the end.

I wander and touch things -- I hear regular breathing and every so often a car goes by.

A night worth waking with questions.

I sift you see.

I wander and things things -- my questions are unanswered but that's okay.

Not super human, no frightened but there is so much to comprehend.

One hopes one's children might find teh center, but one is never sure, it could never happen or it could.

I wander and touch things -- there is a lovely aroma from the flowers on the table.

A night worth waking with questions.

I feel you see.

I wander and touch things -- I hear my heart, my heart which I have tried for so long not to hear.

I live entirely within this husk that is changing so rapidly I cannot even define it.

I hope there will be definition soon.

I wander and touch things -- the light filters through my window like dust.
_________________l

Untitled

As I strode toward the station the moon, earthlit, rose above me.

The sun behind me did not warm my neck.

In the sky with unequal love.

The deer frozen in the capsule of a moment, I hurtled toward her.

Her eyes luminescent like the moon, there was no time to live my life again.

At the last moment she moved and yet it feels just like I hit her broad on, the way she was standing, burying her hooves inside my heart, inside the celestial beings who shone down and did not care.

___________________

Happy New Year dearest cherubs.

Margaret

The obligatory physically challenged post -- coping with a broken ankle

Precious Cherubs:

Ok, so most of you know by now that I am the victim of black ice, which is not as nice as being the "victim" of black gold, "oil that is, black gold, Texas tea". Fifteen points to all who can sing the complete Beverly Hillbillies song. Nevermind, I win.

So I am past the surgery which involved plates and screws. And I am rediscovering my life. I have temporarily lost my independence. It occurs to me that I never really had it, that it was, perhaps, an illusion -- not my life, but my independence.

You have to figure out the following:

How to move (back and forth and up and down)
How to bathe
How to eat
How to drink
How to keep your clothes clean

There are many more sub-catigories that fall under those larger catigories. And all of them have to be rediscovered.

I have become grateful to many people, namely, my roommate, my daughter, my brother, and my friends, yes, in that order.

My roommate was a "first responder". He picked me up at the ER. He made the most profound statement of my life. He said the following: "Margaret, I can clean the house, cook the meals, wash the clothes and take care of you. In return, I ask only that you don't cry". I love you Tom DiFrancia.

My daughter was the "immediate care giver". She said the following: "Mum, you took care of me for many years, including the time that both my wrists were broken. Think of this as payback time". And she drove the car and took me to the doctors, to my testing, to the hospital at that ungodly hour, and she waited while I had my surgery. Then, and only then, did she venture home to her New Year's eve party. I love you Lydia.

My brother John was what he has always been, the "guy who picks up the pieces". He showed up at the hospital after I had my surgery and I opened my drug laden eyes to his smiling face. He looked like an angel to me. He offered to bring me home from the hospital on Thursday, after he had worked many long hours. Lucky for him and for me, my roommate's work schedule was changed and he was able to pick me up earlier. I love you John.

My friend Margaret came to make my bed at home and brought me books and stayed to discuss poetry with me. My friend Marcia brought me goodies from the grocery store and trashy magazines and stayed to talk with me in the middle of a busy day. My Facebook, Tagged and Yahoo friends left encouraging messages. My friends Patt, Jan, and Molly and my brother Tony, all called. I am one lucky woman.

I am not a believer in fate. I am not a believer in love. I am not a believer in God. But somehow it would seem many things wound themselves together during these last couple of weeks to make one accident that might have been unbearable, bearable.

I often tell people that what they deposit in the karma bank, comes back to them. Now I know, it's true.

Happy New Year, dearest cherubs.