Frohring Meadow, Geauga County, Ohio--A Word Snapshot of my Day--August 24, 2011

The sunflower smiled down upon the Irish Breakfast tea-for-two place settings which my adopted sister Janie thoughtfully brought to give our day retreat a special start.  We, the  Yayayogachics of the Riverside High and National Writing Project Alumni Associations and the D. W. Shaner Sisterhood, daintily sip our Irish Breakfast Tea from Antique English bone china tea cups, each with its own floral pattern, and nibble on our gluten free blueberry muffins.  Attack bees, jealous of our tasty treats, attempt to rob us of our joy along with the park maintenance crew with their weed eaters, blowers, and mower tractors assaulting our ears as we attempt to write under the shade of Katydid Pavilion. After tea and muffins gluten-free, we look to where two paths rise before us and choose the one toward which the Spirit "guided" us, a 2 3/4 mile stroll through meadow and deciduous forest.  A couple of miles and a half-hour after we shoulda coulda made our way back to home base--we love the way the Spirit gets us lost--we took the time to stretch back into the moment, our bodies yawning into a few asanas in the grass before setting our pens to paper. The warm dampness rises from fresh mown grass, the sweet smell of chlorophyll as soft as baby's breath, brings us back to this moment.   The half moon takes second stage in the rich blue zenith of the late August mid-day sky.  The steady breeze caresses the meadow flowers where the azure meets acre upon acre of prairie ecosystem.  As the sun moves from a.m. to p.m., small puffs of fair weather cumulous clouds begin to dot the sky with feathery cirrus clouds sneaking in from the west, portending of a different sky tomorrow.

SEMPER MAMA

By Katherine L. Szerdy

**Dedicated to my son, Capt. Darren S. Szerdy, USMC, USNA Class of 2002

           

Since February 21, 2004,                                          

For 133 days                                                                        

my days have been interspersed                                

with frequent thoughts of you, my son,                            

deployed somewhere in                                             

You-can’t-tell-me-exactly-where,

Iraq.                                                                            

As I drive home today,                                              

Windows down, enjoying cool summer breezes        

I wonder what you might be doing right then,       

    right now                                                                    

I struggle to imagine                                                   

going for weeks                                                         

in 120-degree heat                                                    

with no shower,                                                             

hygiene consisting of                                                

daily head shavings                                                     

The boredom                                                           

sleep deprivation,                                                           

frustrations                                                                  

interspersed with                                                              

occasional moments of                                                      

reward                                                                       

    or adventure                                                                     

and same old news of nearby loss,                                     

the agony of diplomatic efforts                                                                   

            rewarded with dysentery,                          

                        old Persian custom                           

                        verbal agreements made over                   

sheep kabobs

    searching in the dark for

    a blessing,

    moments of meaningfulness.

Causes my heart to skip a beat

when I think of it all.

During Sunday phone calls

I listen intently,

trying to discern in your voice

what you cannot give voice to.

I rest in the knowledge that,

for that moment anyway,

you are alive and well.

After dinner I imagine you 

might be sleeping

0330 your time, 1930 mine

and I pray that God would grant you

     deep, 

          restful,   

               r e s t o r a t i v e

 sleep.

I've rekindled the nightly habit

 of kneeling at my bed in prayer,

     hands folded,

     knees calloused,

for your safety

and

for no blue cars,

no knocks at the front door

for only 67 more Arabian nights.

Love you oodles and oodles,

Mamacita

OBSCURED BRILLIANCE

 By Katherine L. Szerdy 

A renga poem inspired by a visit to the Gaughin exhibit at the Cleveland Art museum, Dec., 2009.

Obsessed with yellow,                                  

Ocean blues, greens, sunset reds,                  

Best friends create art,                                  

Paul paints images from dreams;                  

Vincent paints what he sees now.                 

Paul likes his paint thin

Vincent prefers loaded brush

Paul, more subtle strokes

Vincent, dot dash morse code like

Both left their distinctive mark.

Nerves begin to fray

Vincent cuts off his right ear

Paul leaves for awhile

Later they become penpals

Encourage each other’s growth

They gave us the gift

To see our world through veil of

Light reflecting back

Colors, textures, beauty, from

Innovative vantage point.

We misunderstood.
They shattered the status quo,
Died in poverty.
Who is our Gaughin today?
Who is our Van Gogh today?

Step Forward, Please

By Katherine Harris Szerdy

Putting your best foot forward

Isn’t the easiest thing to do.

First you must decide on your right or left

Then carefully shove that foot just so.

With any luck and some coordination

Plus an inordinate desire to achieve

You can take that motivation--

Work hard, there’s no time for a reprieve.

Putting your hot pink foot forward, though,

Can be a whole lot more fun--

Then break into a dance, let Spirit guide you

Under the warm summer sun;

Or try pirouetting, feet painted like rainbows,

Leaving behind you a trail of multi-colored smiles,

Magical yellows, greens, indigoes

Swirling behind you mile after miraculous mile.

So, I choose to set my feet to dancing

In a way that colors my world

Rather than step back into a colorless existence,

the chaotic life into which I’d been hurled

Back when I thought I had to complete

So many titles, awards, and college degrees

In order to grasp some sense of self-worth,

With emphasis on the need to people-please.

Remember, glass slippers break easily,

Italian high-heeled stilettos pinch toes.

Please listen, for I’ve learned the hard way

That if you lose touch with what your inner-self knows

And put too much effort in taking steps forward,

Because of a compulsion to advance,

You’ll sacrifice a chance for true happiness

And you’ll miss the barefoot dance.

Copyright 2011  Katherine Harris Szerdy

"A Year Without": What It's Like Having a Soldier/Daughter Deploy to the Sandbox

*This poem took an entire year to write about surviving "A Year Without" my daughter, July 8, 2010-July 10, 2011.  She is a Sergeant in the 112th Engineering Battalion, Brookpark, Ohio--Ohio Army National Guard.

By the tender age of seven,

you mastered the art of pinning your long blonde hair

into a tight bun for ballet.

Seems like yesterday.

Eleven years later, you stepped out of your pointe shoes,

satin ribbons crisscrossing up the calf,

and into Army boots on the ground,

practical laces crisscrossing through metal eyelets.

Fort Jackson drill sergeants mandating pull-ups rather than pirouhettes.

Did you say you ranked "sharpshooter"?

Seems like yesterday you danced for Jesus.

Day after day, a dull ache weighs heavy on my heart,

sometimes tugs violently,

hearing reports of the day's casualties.

--The drastic decline in water and electric usage and grocery bills

yielding in significant financial savings (LOL!)

won't even begin to make up for

A year without...

Mom/daughter lunch dates at our favorite Dave's Cosmic Sub Shop

and Starbucks after-dinner coffee dates

and SOS calls to AAA when the Sebring needs TLC

and moody monthlies

and fashion shows pirouetting your latest fashion finds

and sweet whispers overheard during midnight calls with "The Boy"

and knowing glances from across the room

and cleaning fests while singing your heart out to iTunes,

spinning in your socks on shiny oak floors,

and sharing the latest shampoo brands

or Sephora make-up tricks

or comparing OPI colors on toes

and the joy of hearing about your most memorable Yours Truly customer of the day--

Tom, the town historian sporting his signature bow tie, always impeccably dressed or

the Reids, Kirk and Dot, the adorable Presbyterian couple

married 59 years, who always leave a 15% tip to the penny,

and who left a message on our answering machine last week to tell us

they would be praying for you

each and every day,

and Dave and Casey, twin brothers, Hudson's very own Click & Clack.

It's not getting any easier you know--180 days in...

I miss those late night Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice marathons

and witnessing you fall in love with Matisse on a trip to the Cleveland Art Museum

so much so that you went out and bought your first set of paints and canvas

and watching you solve Sudoku puzzles faster than it takes me to brush my teeth

and putting together 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles before the dinner dishes are put away

and interpreting last night's dreams

and enjoying luncheon in a real French restaurant together

and your placating "the Mom" on Mother's Day by taking me to High Tea

or church on Sunday

HOW

do I possibly enjoy a moment of this convenient existence

knowing that my daughter is over there

sacrificing an entire year, 1/23nd of her young life,

her senior year at Kent State,

laying her life on the line each and every one of the 365 days

for a cause greater than herself

HOW

can I lounge in air conditioning as she struggles to sip

breathable air through her mask during a sandstorm

HOW

can I take a drive in my Buick LaCrosse, windows rolled down,

breeze blowing through my hair,

or enjoying heated leather seats in winter's cold,

knowing she sits strapped tight in a sling seat in the fuselage of a C130

flying over Kyrzgstan

or hunkered down in a Humvee, transported over hopelessly rocky, mountainous terrain always too hot or too cold...

HOW

can I crash on the couch for a luxurious afternoon nap

while she struggles to sleep with shells exploding in the not-too-distance

or to wake up each day to the same routine--work 12 hours, run, chow, sleep, work 12 hours, run, chow, sleep...

in the haze of Afghan heat

HOW

can I walk freely down tree-lined streets admiring manicured lawns

without thinking of her trudging under the burden of a 60-pound pack

unable to step outside bounded territory.

HOW

do I lunch with a friend at the newest bistro in town

dressed in a lovely lined lavendar linen sheath

knowing a girlfriend lunch for her means

the monotony of mess hall mystery meat and potato cuisine

with (boiled) surf and turf as the big treat on Fridays

or ripping open an MRE

with her battle buddy, dressed in ACUs a lovely shade of cammie,

while sitting,

waiting,

in blazing 115 degree heat.

HOW

do I take a leisurely shower with spa accessories

without thinking about her feeling lucky to get two minutes

under cold water...and a bar of soap.

We watch the evening news and wonder

What is not being told

because the real stories won't sell advertising dollars

or appease political agendas...

You've told us your work saves lives--

I read between the lines that this work is

meaningful for you despite the

colorless

lifeless

backdrop of the mountains of Afghanistan

whichever camp or air field you are stationed.

What stories will you have to tell your grandchildren?

My prayer continues--that God shelters you from memories

needing to be buried, and blesses you with sweet dreams

of home and a bright, auspicious future.

So I keep a visual journal, recording details about meaningful moments and seasons you missed.

Frank, Al, Susie, Joe, Buttercup, and Bob, aka Alibaba, the mutant Algae-eater, continue to thrive.

I take great pride that I haven't lost one--

until the last week!

No, ZeeZee and BeeBee haven't forgotten you.

I wonder if you've had time to respond to

comments I wrote in Sue Monk Kidd's mother/daughter memoir,

And wonder what you'll think about the new living room arrangement

and whether you'll be surprised that I didn't change a thing in your room

except that I ironed and put away your last load of laundry

and kept your room clean and tucked away a few treasures I thought you might enjoy  --

to be discovered when you are home on leave.

Dad wonders if you'll recognize all the changes he's made in the house since you left (he kept a list)  :-)

I count the days until you are home on leave

so I can perhaps sleep through the night

I continue to pray each night at 0230

And send up breath prayers throughout the day

And cling to my faith 24/7

until you and your brother and your cousins are back on American soil and

three buses pull back into the Armory

under Vietnam Vet motorcyle escort and

we can cut both yellow ribbons off the oak tree

and you are safe in my arms again.

LEAVE

1st week, silent

2nd week, came back into your own skin

LAST CHAPTER:  POST LEAVE

Emails resume then stop

at Camp Lightening

Another Dear John to Jeremy

But he was going to hang on

How did we miss that you found someone else?

25 DAYS AND A WAKE-UP

was the Facebook post of the day

Though my heart aches, I cannot judge

I know not what it's like to spend

1/23 of one's life in a tan sand world

HOMECOMING:  July 10, then July 8...12:00 then 11:00 then 12:15

Don't we love the U.S. Army?

On July 8, Grampy's 82nd birthday,

you jumped off bus #2 into your Daddy's arms,

with me running from midway between buses 3 & 4

to hold you ever so tight.

Guess who slept soundly last night,

one more tight tether unloosed from around the

chambers of my heart.

All my love,

Mom

July Haiku / December Haiku 2011

December, 2010

Woosie New Yorkersdig out from Old Man Winter's
vie for attention.


July, 2011


hummingbird hovers
sipping red geranium
nectar oh so sweet