Anticipating Christmas

I wasn't planning to go shopping, but

when I found that I was stopping
to look for something needed at one big store,
the pull of yet another was so oddly gravitational
I spent an hour looking, spending longer and more
money than I'd planned.
And yet the gifts I bought are grand,
in my opinion, borderline sensational.
I find myself regretting that I still have weeks
to wait for a more proper date to hand them,
wrapped up nicely, to recipients of this fun
and unexpected venture out into the crowds today.
Suddenly I'm child-like,
wild anticipation for the Christmas tree,
still stored up in the attic as it waits, I fear, on me.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Black Friday Blues

Can't buy what I want (ba-dum, ba-dum)

Favorite scene from
"Adventures in Babysitting"
when no one leaves without
singing the blues.

Slept too late anyway (ba-dum, ba-dum)

Can't take all the crowds (ba-dum, ba-dum)

And I've got other plans today, 

I got those Black Friday blues

You know what I mean

Those Black Friday blues

My checkbook is lean

Don't like to go shopping

Unless it's with you.

Black Friday, Black Friday, 

Black Friday, Black Friday

Black (ba-dum ba-dee-dum, ba-dum ba-dee-dum)

Got those Black, Black Black Friday blues.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Firstborn Child

He bit me once while nursing,
and I bit him back, not hard,
of course, but on his arm. I
can't recall another time he went
out of his way to hurt me,
no thoughtless digs or
payback for not being his idea
of flawless motherhood. We
were companions for a year,
just mostly he and I while
daddy worked and crossed
the sea, and it has never been
like that again. Sometimes I
miss those times, the newness
of a firstborn child held
tightly in the night, rocking
back and forth and singing
songs for no one else but him.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

My firstborn is 36 years old today. We've always had a good time together.Happy birthday, Caleb Edgar Gillette!

Thanksgiving Memory

Wife for two years, mother for one,

first turkey cooked in a wood stove
the size of a Buick in a drafty Carolina cabin
that cold rainy Thursday in November
35 years ago. Little boy barely walking,
pregnant with the next and didn't even know it,
thankful for so much but I wouldn't go back
there even if I could. Long dark hair
and tight jeans three or four sizes smaller,
when I was 20 and life was simpler.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Legacy

There is a home school group around these parts
that started small, five families. Before the five,
there were my questions, research reinforcing
what I saw within my heart, desire to give my
little boy the best chance at an education.
Nancy and I looked into the legal stuff, convinced
a group to form around that seed of passion,
and it's grown so big, they have a prom! A legacy,
unnoticed now by anyone (who's she?) but me.
And that's okay, as well knowing that I played
a part in starting something grand.

There are four children all grown up except the
one who died too soon, and he's so loved and
well-remembered that he still affects the lives
of all who knew him. Policeman, nurse, a stay-home
mom, they don't always do things as I would,
but they were raised with love and discipline and time
invested in their characters, and the dividends accrued
quite well in many ways. As days fly by, they
are a legacy as well, another proof that I was
here, I worked and hugged, baked bread and
put on band-aids, tucked four little ones in bed.

Things I've written, painted, made, one day to
be sold off at auction to strangers holding something
up and making comments to their friends, or passed
along to relatives who may be pleased or not,
when I am laid to rest. Not that I'm ready yet, I've
years (I hope) to leave behind more treasures
of my time and effort but the ones that will endure
the longest are unseen, the love I gave to others,
love that was received with matching joy.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Sometime in the next few days, this blog will have reached 20,000 hits, a bit of a legacy itself. This got me thinking about what I will leave behind, my history of accomplishments, the people who will remember me, not in a morbid way, but realistically. Sometimes I feel like I should have more to show for 55, almost 56 years of living. Maybe being loved, having people who enjoy my company, is more important, however, than a bookshelf lined with novels I've written (not yet!) or walls covered with paintings I've done (one of these days).

A Blessing for Celeste

Be blessed, Celeste, with lots of shoes

When I asked my teenaged friend
Celeste what she wanted for her
birthday, a special blessing event
tomorrow with
guests coming from
out of town, dinner, a very
big deal, she said: "Shoes."

and level roads to walk on,
with all things good, 
brown food adored,
but even more, adventure! 
The courage to
explore things new, 
including thoughts and places.
Be blessed, Celeste, with questions answered.
More ups than downs,
more smiles than frowns,
on life's wild roller coaster .
Be blessed, Celeste, with full knowledge that
you are so loved, protected, with
more happiness than expected,
purest joy to come your way.
Miss Celeste Grace, be blessed today
and all your life with baffling wonder
that will knock your socks clean off
inside another pair beyond compare
of excellent new shoes.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

A Wedding Song

I think if I set this to music,
there would need to be
a banjo and fiddle.

God took pity on the pretty girl.
God took pity on the pretty girl
who longed so much
for a loving touch,
and so he met her need.

God was gracious to an audacious man.
God was gracious to an audacious man
who longed so much
for a loving touch,
and so he met his need.

God chose where their roads would cross.
God chose where their roads would cross
and had the plan in his own hand,
and so he met their needs.

Little did they guess that all the rest,
Little did they guess that all the rest
of life would lead them here
to stand before you now,
to stand before you now.

God took pity on the pretty girl.
God was gracious to an audacious man.
God chose where their roads would cross.
Little did they guess that all the rest
of life would lead them here.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Reflection on That Day in '63

President Kennedy was
shot 11/22/63. Everyone
over the age of 2 at the time
likely remembers what they
were doing when they
heard. I was watching TV.

One month shy of six years old and still at home
because there was no kindergarten in that town,
I was watching television, Dick van Dyke in
black and white, the only channel that we got
inside the valley, till the interruption that announced
a tragedy had taken place. Mama wasn't in
the room, and so I went to tell her Something Bad
had happened. I remember going, not the things
I said or if we huddled there in front of the TV
or left immediately to drive to school to get my sister.
Cars were lined up all chaotically, everyone with
Dallas on their minds. Parents wanted children close to hug, and children had so many questions. Why were
all the grown-ups crying? Why was news
the only thing to watch, this Friday in November?


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Fishing From a Dock

Two boys fishing from the dock
did not mind answering the questions
about what was in the lake, nor
admitting that so far that day,
they had failed to catch a thing.
There was a cool breeze conjuring
tiny whitecaps as the sun
began to hang low in the sky
like a scarf around a woman's neck,
and even if they wouldn't take
their supper home, they'd spent
a grand afternoon together,
brothers from the looks of them,
one maybe 10 or 12, the other
well up in his teens, but raised
to be respectful, pleasant, not
too proud to fish but proud enough
to know their casts were skillful.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Water Heals

Water is a wonder, cooling, soothing,

quenching thirst. The tumble of it

over rocks is all it takes, at times, to

heal a ruffled mind, and whether by

a fountain on a table-top or creek

beside a mountain, water's dance

and song speaks to the anxious rhythm

of a heartbeat under stress. Beach waves

crashing, kissing just the edge of sandy

shores, can do the same. A mirrored lake

can take much longer, requiring

that one sits and stares into its depths,

holding focus on what lies beneath

the surface as it washes cares away

without one even conscious of the change.

A pool, a hot tub, nice long bath,

even showers can refresh not just

the body but the soul. The dance of stormy

drops upon the roof, a walk outside in

pouring rain to hydrate earth and its

inhabitants, so thirsty from the busy-ness of life.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Mothers Must Leave From Time to Time, Though Not For Long

I'd like to pass a law against the snarkiness,

the snotty shrug of shoulders showing apathy,
the attitude that says "I know much better"
even when you both know it's not true.

I'd like to pass a law against the lack of love,
the selfishness, demand to be the center
of existence as we know it, without thought
to others, what is best for someone else
or how your actions make them feel.

It isn't up to me, of course, and so I leave
this planet on occasion, travel to a distant
universe, so parallel in many ways, but
where there's peace and quiet if only because
everyone's been threatened not to call.

They start to ask me days before: "When
are you leaving?," calculating
how much longer they must trouble with
the person who intrudes into their lives,
making sure that teeth are brushed and
chores are done, and graphic language is
turned off the xBox, talking back is not allowed.

Mothers, and in our case, Nanas too, should
fly the coop from time to time, not so they
are more grateful (that's unlikely to occur)
but so that we are grateful for the sense of
peace and calm and lack of drama that
the little time away inspires.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Plants & People

Plants will stretch their roots incredibly

to find a drop of water or they might
come up through a concrete crack
pushing, striving, just to catch a glimpse of light.
If they shrivel, it is not through any choice
that they have made, or act of will. Plants
do not love, but still they fight to live,
survive, grow to shade or fruit or flower.
People are not like that. If the water isn't there,
and plenty of it, they will wail, and curse
the dryness. If the darkness falls upon them,
the blame assigned points everywhere but
at themselves. But sometimes, they
are similar to plants, and dying in the
dryness are made new and vibrant.
There is a choice, though, to receive
or not, that vegetation does not share.
I was dying in a drought, leaves
shriveling from too much heat,
no rain, the pruning was too vigorous,
the petals' fragrance faint so as to be
a figment of someone's fantasy, imagination.
And then it rained. And then the sun peeked
through the clouds. And then the green.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

The Maid of Lorraine

Joan of Arc,
as she is known.

Burned for heresy, the farm girl rallied troops,
saw saints, and cut her hair into a bob (though
not quite in that order). She crowned a king
who later could have saved her from the flames
but didn't want to bother. Voices told her this and that,
and she obeyed. A girl of faith, conviction,
loyalty, so gifted and outspoken that intimidated,
weak and foolish men felt stupid in her presence,
emasculated by her strength; they couldn't bear
to let her live, and heaven, who might have spared
her too, did not, preferring that she end a life
spectacular in  humility to come and be with
those who'd spoken to her all along.  Amazingly,
some folks would rather think her gifts a sign of mental
illness than accept that maybe she was someone special,
someone great. Oh, wait. She mentioned God, and was
convincing. That was her undoing, the unforgiveable
sin of merely speaking truth.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Bullies

"If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen"

Not even pro football players
avoid bullying, apparently.
Jonathan Martin has
accused fellow player
Richie Incognito.

may have merit, but when the kitchen is the locker room

or school, and the heat is that of bullies, what to do? 

How best to act, for safety and integrity, for others 

who may lack the skills or will to stand up for themselves?

Hurting people hurt the ones around them, subconscious

adaptation to another adage: "Misery loves company."

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Strange Perfume

http://vivianasfahion.blogspot.com/
2010/06/tears-of-joy.html

I googled "tears of joy" and found
this lovely photo at this site.

I know some people who have mostly given up
on life. Not sick or ill, no tragic diagnoses,
they're just weary of the drama each day brings.
I understand, I do, the overwhelming crush of
circumstance and dark awareness that the things
you wish would change are really people, and
they likely won't. But as the night turns
into morning, as the sun climbs high into the blue,
perfection reigns beyond the small and finite
problems we will face. If we are blessed, we'll catch
a whiff of strange perfume upon a breeze, or hear
a song we've always loved so faintly played behind
a crowd we have to strain to figure out the words.
Both the strangeness and the straining
give importance to the commonplace,
and suddenly a hope stirs deep within.
Things will get better, we surprise
ourselves by thinking. That problem will work
out, that person will pick up the phone and call,
apologies we've waited on for years will
come, we'll find the proper drink with which
to swallow bitter pills and find the mixture
to our liking. And all it took was just
a whiff of strange perfume, forgotten
by the end of day, but should we ever
catch a whiff again, a joyful tear will find its
way from eye to cheek before we even
know its there.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

An Ode to CVS

Can't       Verify           Service

Causing   Volumninous  Stress.
Customer Vents            Sarcastically.
With all the high-tech functions,
slide this card, scan this coupon,
check the extra savings number
on my phone, you'd think that just
because I printed out a coupon and
didn't have it with me when I shopped,
they'd drop the "sorry, ma'am" and
see that I've not used it yet. The app
is clear - I printed it, but it's still there
in black and white, the items that I
bought for just that purpose sitting on
the counter in plain sight.You'd think
they'd have a way to make sure
all the coupons were used a single time
to curb the crime of fraud that others
might attempt to perpetrate, but no.
Print it out, you'd better pin it to your
dress unless you want, like me, to
lose the six buck savings.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Butterfly Becky

I love this picture of my
daughter in her nursing school
uniform! Happy birthday,
Becky Gillette!

One day long ago she was missing from the house,
and when I found her in the front yard,
I asked her what she was doing. "Chasing
butterflies," she said, which made perfect sense
at the time.

One day as a teen, she went missing
from the house, and when she decided to
give home another chance, we walked on eggshells
for awhile. Given the circumstances, this
made perfect sense, too.

And then she moved away to join a man, then
join the army, marry. And we missed her
in the house but loved that she was happy, which
made perfect sense.

Until it didn't any more.

We still miss her. But we celebrate the newness
in her life, the one no one else has handed her,
suggested, pushed, the one she found because
she never stopped looking for the missing part
to her heart that she didn't find with butterflies,
or somewhere in rebellion, or with this man or that, but
in the joy of motherhood and setting goals and
finding who she is, a butterfly who's spread
her wings and found a breeze to carry her along
to places she could only dream of long ago.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

The First Poem Was Better

Two poems today, the one I am not posting

since a friend who read it said it was too much.
Mostly a comparison of poetry and sex,
R-rated, not exactly, since the language
wasn't blue; but maybe M. But then I caved
and offer this in place of all the raciness.
The other one was better, and more fun,
in my opinion, and more cerebral by a mile.
Perhaps my friend was right, though.
Routinely I offend without attempting to,
and as that is the case, I'm sure the poem
would've made a few of you consider me
to be of a person base, and one or two
would ask yourself if I am even saved.
Be that as it may, I think a verse
combining two such wondrous things is
sure to come eventually. (No pun intended.)



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

'Tis the Season To Just Be

Labor Day and Halloween are over, and veterans

holidaysfortoday.com

have marched in their parades across the
land (those who aren't still serving, dodging IEDs
and tanks). Autumn colors in the stores compete
with Christmas reds and greens though Thanksgiving Day
is several weeks away. The next few weeks are special,
quite significant in and of themselves, to me, and to some
others whom I love. Daughter Becky will be 32 this Thursday,
and on a sadder note next week, a one-year anniversary
no one would ever want: the passing of the much-loved brother of a close, dear friend. Another week's gone and son Caleb
will be 36, which means his birthday buddy Rodney
must be, by now.. .good Lord! How quickly the time went.
We've been married 37 years December 4, and I'll be,
all too soon, a 56-year-old. My parents mark their 59th,
Jasmine turns 15, and all that's just between today
and Christmas! Busy time, important days, reminder
to live in the present, delighting in each day we're
given, savoring the life that's there, and taking time
and care to love, and show love, to each precious
person in our lives and yet beyond. Holidays, and holy
days, are markers by which years roll by. We'll shed
tears of joy and sorrow, laugh across our tables,
open gifts with just as much excitement as we did as children.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Veterans Day

We're grateful for the veterans

of foreign wars and peacetime forces,
always at the ready for their country's needs.
The military face may change, but
still the call rings true: to train, and serve,
cohesive unit thinking, working, fighting
as one soldier. Many branches but one
goal. Many men and women but one
cause. Many lives we pray will not be
lost. Many loved ones whom we hope
will safely walk upon the soil of home
once more. We do not have to understand
the battles which they wage. They do
not owe an explanation for the reasons
that they wear the uniform. We thank
them for the sacrifices real, and sacrifices
possible, and pray for peace for all. Those
who have served, we thank, and those
who serve today, we owe.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Highlands Hammock

Highlands Hammock
in Sebring, Florida

Old Florida still lives within the hammocks
of the parks, accessible by wooden bridges
puffed with moss and marked by lovers
for posterity. Walk deep enough, further in
until no sound of man breaks through the thicket
of tall hickories and palms and swampy soup that
looks as if it hasn't changed since pioneers
appeared, so quiet that the ripples made by water bugs
can fool you into looking past them, sure there's fish
or frogs, an alligator which would make a better
story when you get back home. A leaf is silent as it falls
to land on mirrored water but when, mid-air, it lightly grazes
just the hair upon one cheek, you jump a bit. then feel a little
foolish, but only just. Out here amidst the wildness
even if now cordoned safely off, barricaded with so many gates
and trails and parking fees, you know the wildness
only tolerates such things for its own pleasure,
and could break through at any moment, should it choose.
You feel this truth to your very core, because it's something
that you share with nature. wildness locked inside as well.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Perched on the Edge

The people living in these parts would likely
be offended if I said I'd traveled to a town
in the middle of nowhere, and rightly so. More
like the middle of somewhere perched on the edge
of anywhere at all you want to go to get away.
Far enough from home to make it count,
but close enough in case they really need you.
Mormons bike along the same two-lane that
I am on, seeing signs I've never seen as lollipop
palms in the distance tell me that I haven't
crossed state lines, just to different state of mind.
Watch for buzzards on the bridge, a helpful warning
and I look but there are none. They must be napping
in the woods back from the road. A headless cow
atop a pillar doesn't see me as I pass, nor does his twin
across the little drive that may or may not
lead to a stately mansion owned by dairy moguls
whose family has been here close to forever,
back when mosquitos were the size of birds
and over on the coast, the water was still clear.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Acid Drips

Acid drips, the fumes creating toxic waste

that could burn holes in metal, razor edges
all exposed to rip the flesh of those who
venture too close, were it not the poison
of a tongue unleashed. Beneath the words
ungrateful, selfish, angry, is the root.
There's evil there, where nothing good
can grow. The soil of conversation must
be cleansed as if by fire before a living seed
can once again find nurture.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Kids' Crossing

In 1993, we built a playground,

Kids' Crossing, circa `993
Today the new construction begain,
with many of the same faces
among the volunteers.

childhood friends and mentors, pastors,
lawyers, parents, people who would
never know each other but for
helping carry boards or signing
volunteers up for varied jobs.
All four children did their part back then,
their names emblazoned on the picket
fence that kept the playground safe.
And now it's gone, in 20 years, but
working once again tonight to
build another for the grandkids
of my own and maybe their kids too,
I saw some faces I remembered
from the first build, older, grayer,
their children grown as mine are,
giving back to a community,
getting down and dirty with a team
of workers who will only be a first
name on a stick-on label, whether
there beyond a full day mowing yards
or sitting at a desk, earning just enough
to eat this week, or raking in a million,
now united for the children in our town.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Delete Button

The rambling and reflective introspection 

into the morning's pettiness is gone from

view, erased with one swift motion lest

a single eye would ever see the depth to

which my heart can sink. Only you were

witness, gentle redirection from the pit

of self-absorption, reminding me of 

things that matter, laughter playing

in the background overtaking melancholy

strains of momentary despair. You conquer 

me with light and love and joy, and

always win the battle, inserting what is

good into my life, deleting...word by word...

the things that need to go.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Timber

Philosophers and scientists may have the time

to ponder whether trees, in fact, do make a

sound when falling unperceived by other

living beings, but I find that line of thought

extremely self-absorbed. Things exist apart

from our awareness or our interest or belief. 

If only atheists survive, it will not change 

the fact that God is God, or that he watches 

over even those who mock him question or deny.

He sends the rain to grow their crops or sun to bring a smile onto their faces. And if no one understands 

my heart or takes the time to ask me what I think

or want or need, my heart still beats. And if I am

the tree that falls upon an empty island or within

the confines of a silent wood, the ground

will shake and and far away someone will see

the ripples on the surface of a pond and wonder why.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

My Granddaughter is 14

In other countries, foreign cultures on the other

Doesn't she have a pretty smile?

side of Earth, she would be somebody's wife,
someone older than her dad, perhaps her granddad,
new and supple shapely maiden who would bear
him many sons or bear his wrath. Here she's just
fourteen and trying hard to get off what has always
been the path she's used to, maybe take a look down
some new trail that looks to me too dangerous. She
tries to keep her head above the waters
of society and peers and drama here
at home, not standard issue with a mom and dad
and picket fence, but generations blended
with a spoon that sometimes hurts when
stubborn lumps need more attention. She's beautiful
when smiling, complicated without understanding
why. And I am learning, every day, the language
that she speaks, that when she seems to want her
Nana just to leave her all alone, she's saying
something different altogether.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

November Starlight

I want to hold you underneath the stars

as the slightest of chills in the air pulls us
even closer. heat from your breath
on my neck. I want to look up, astounded
at the beauty of the constellations far
from city lights, look up from the blanket
that we wisely brought along, a little get-away,
escaping from the ordinary, giggling like
a couple of kids, hoping that we don't get caught,
astounded at the beauty of a love transcending
time and age and what two people at this stage
of life are often told they ought to do.
Let others pour over their portfolios and
talk of the next surgery to get. The night
is young, my love. Let's go and see
if any shooting stars will interrupt us
as we lie entwined upon a blanket that is
not quite as old as we are, but almost.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Jason's Birthday Haiku

Jason Gillette,
who rocks everything he does.

My nephew likes guns,
dirt bikes, music, and his sons;
Jason's happy day!


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Subbing at a New School

Palm Pointe reading pupils were intrigued that

The poem they read for class was
"The Gorgon Sisters" by Kenn Nesbitt.
No names were given, but we talked
about Medusa. 
The other two were Stheno 
and Euryale, both immortal.

I would write a poem every day--"intrigued" in
that they showed some curiosity (explained in case
they find this poem and read it, as some said
they would.  They were asking questions
to delay their lessons, perhaps, but that's okay with
me.  Two boys asked if I could write about them,
Jason in the double block of time; also Aaron
in the last hour of the day who has blue eyes and
threw some broken crayons later on, but missed
the mark if he was throwing them at me. One girl
muttered something snarky but it gave an opportunity
to tell the class the best advice I know for almost
everyone of any age: Just because you think it,
doesn't mean you have to say it. Maybe they'll
remember, maybe not. I need reminding every
now and then myself.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013