Little Lord Fauntleroy

Here is a picture of our family's own Little Lord Fauntleroy. At first glance, I see a girl. Only on further examination, I realise he is a boy.  

... many generations later, our family brightly embraces LGBQA+ diversity.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

All it takes

All it takes is

Moving from left to right

A swaying of my hips,

A sigh leaving my lips

Unannounced. Such

Yearning... for love,

for a life well lived.

I wish I knew his name

Deep in our family archives is this lone image of a distant relative. A proud soldier in the Canadian Scottish Regiment of WWI. 

Looking into his eyes, the only thing I see is resolve. I would like to know how it found its way there. Why was  he on his way to fighting a war so very far away for those he does not know? What type of stories did he hear to make him willing to leave his life behind? What made him choose possible death over the persuit of a long legacy?

When did we stop believing in personal scarifice for "the good of mankind"?

Looking at this photo I have two thoughts. One is if either of my children made this choice to fight in a war far away, it would break my heart. Secondly, I wish I knew this relative's name.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

My day today

Back pain runs right down
Sitting on a heating pad
One more sigh escapes.

I asked some friends...

What do you no longer do that you did when you were young ?

• Catch fireflies. (I do not even remember how to.)
• Play “how far can you spit“ from our balcony.

• Play football with my brother.

• I was trying to teach Emmalyn how to do a cartwheel, and yeah, it ended up being big on theory, as I can’t actually do one anymore.

• Reading under the blanket with a flashlight.

• Sleepovers at a friend's houses with all my best buddies.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Constant disturbances

My daily struggle
Is my brain whirling around
Open plan office.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Just like that he's there

 

Just like that, he's there
Standing next to his tent with
A war buddy in tow.

My grandfater fought in WWI. He was a motercycle carrier delivering messages on the Front. Or that is what we were told. He never once mentioned this period in his life. 

That is why I was surpised to come upon this photo of him standing in a field of mud in his uniform pants and boots. He looks as if he has just played a game of football with his buddy. It is perhaps hard to see, but there are a field of tents in the background.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Soul daddy

My brother, with beard
Silver and sleak, a soul daddy,
Grace in growing old.

Steam swirling

 

Steam swirling above
Tea cup resting in my hand
I am missing you.  

The poems of Isobel Dixon

Isobel's poems speak

Brightly and beautifully

Into this new day.

Attending the the breath of experience

In praise of those friendships that crisscross

The undulating surfaces of generations or cultures
Attending the breath of our humble experiences
Whether whirling storms or quiet laxity
Whether acts of grand gestures or tender mercies
They are the heroes of my long life and I 
Sing their praises. Blessed is true friendship. 

(This poem was inspired by Krista Tipetts and Jen Bailey's recent conversation on inter-generational friendships.)

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Constant stream of thoughts

 

Around in circles

Light and colours find their way

Breathing in and out.

I send my gaze

(for Kay)

I walk along this dusty summer track
On the outskirts of the city. In green.
I send my gaze across the ocean
Into La Sagesse Bay, where we meet
For fresh fish sandwich and a salad
With pink homemade salad dressing.

When the lunch rush is over and many
Have left for home, we wander down
The beach to the place where the river
Runs into the sea. A sandy estuary where
Our thoughts and words filter through
The souls of our bare feet and escape
Out into the tides of long long friendship.

Photo by Alex Wigan on Unsplash

Tender stories

As some of you know, I am a convert to Korean dramas and romances. The hours I have spent watching them has been like sipping a healing tonic that smoothed the strife of the last 20 months.

Recently, I watched a gem of a series called Move to Heaven. I have rarely seen any play, movie, or television series that handles a countries taboo topics with such tenderness.

As far as I have learnt from other series, homosexuals, adopted or foster children, and those living with physical or mental challenges are still very much ostracized in Korean society. One can argue that this is the case in all societies. Yet, it seems much more the case in Korea. That is why Move to Heaven is remarkable exploration of human kindness.  

Childhood friends

Rain falls softly down

My heart misses you dearly

Old friends far away.

Photo by Ali Abdul Rahman on Unsplash

Daily ritual

Each morning I start
With a piece of poetry
A tidbit of love.

Photo by Laura Chouette on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Reverse psychology

Yesterday, was our monthly meet up to discuss our Year of Theme activities and processes. In my case, my year's theme is Freedom. It has been an interesting journey so far. The goal of making Freedom a daily focus has been surprisingly enjoyable and effortless. 

One thing that I would like to grow is a daily mediation practice. This is something that I have done for most of my adult life, but with longer pauses inbetween. There were times when it was a natural part of my day, but that has not been the case for the last 20 months of the pandemic. 

When I asked my friend, Karen, "How have your tastes changed as you have grown older?" she answered such:

 
"Probably a major way my tastes have changed has to do with meditation practice.  My mind became so sensitized that I am no longer interested in many of the books I used to read and movies I used to watch.  It’s surprising to discover how many books and movies are flippant about their characters or about life in general, or they are violent in a way that is meant to be entertaining (what is entertaining about seeing someone in pain?), or they are just no longer interesting because they don’t engage with the larger questions about life and its meaning and purpose."

This has left me with the idea of not indulging in my daily practice of watching YouTube videos for the next few months. Perhaps letting this behind will work reversely and help me back on the cushion.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash 

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Confession

My desk is messy
My mind is less so, I hope
Only Bach can help.

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Another morning ritual

Fine blue and white stripes
My eyes open to the day
Electric toothbrush.

Changing back to the old

The stores are open
The line ups of masked people

Slowly disapear.  

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)