Saint of the Gutters

"Saint of the Gutters"

*A poem inspired by a photograph in honor of the beatification of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, September 4, 2016

By Katherine Harris Szerdy

More inspiring than the most eloquent sermon

Are the tireless feet of the Saint of the gutters, 

Soles, never supported by Sketchers or Asics, leathery,  thickly calloused from decades spent ministering to the poorest of the poor on unnamed streets in Calcutta, 

Toes, arthritic, gnarled from years of gripping the edges of thin-soled sandals, 

Nails, yellowed, ridged, never painted or pedicured, always pointing in the direction of the Lord's work, 

Heels, rough,  scarred, never--no not once--elevated by Prada or Marcus Jacobs, 

dig determinedly into dirt parched by drought, as she stoops to meet the gaze of a tiny, frail girl, abandoned and homeless,

Or scoop out of a trench the skeleton of a man, naked, skin caked with sun-baked excrement. 

Those tiny feet, 

Feet of a fisherman, 

   of a fisher of men,

   of a saint, 

A sight so hideous yet radiant with the holiness of one whose compassion oozed through her pores

Like the perfume of angels

A sight that could reform the hardest heart, 

Heal the most deep seated pain

Mend the most broken marriage

Shatter the most stubborn stronghold 

Of addiction, of shame, of fear and of hate.

Tiny ordinary feet of a woman who did everything with extraordinary love

Tiny feet belonging to a saint

In a blue and white sari

With well-worn sandals, 

This Saint of the Gutters

who left shoes too large to fill

By any man

And an example for 

Every man to emulate.

Stuffed: the Psychological Profile of an Extreme Hoarder

By Katherine Harris Szerdy

She who grew up during the Great Depression

and the Second World War,

In the shadow of the Diamond Alkali's smokestacks, 

   Ash raining down upon rooftops

In a village with a church and a bar on every block

 

She who grew up within

stone skipping distance of Fairport Beach 

On the southern shores of Lake Erie,

In a loving home with two parents, 

Four brothers, a sister and a dog

 

She who hid behind a perpetual smile,

who attended church every Sunday,

a teetotaler whose drink of choice was

a cup of Tetley with milk

like her English father

 

She who was the obedient one, 

who never cursed or smoked,

the third daughter but the first to survive

Diphtheria,

who struggled in school while her

siblings excelled

 

She who died a little inside

the Christmas Eve her brother,

so handsome the girls in town swooned as he passed,

a veteran of the war and the first to

graduate from college,

the hero of the family,

fell asleep at the wheel,

killing his fiancé and himself

 

She who married a 

     handsome

         hot-tempered 

              hard working 

                   honorably discharged

           Army Sergeant who rarely missed a day

at the Diamond

 

She who died a little more inside

the day her mother, her protector,

went into cardiac arrest following a simple

surgical procedure at the age of 52

 

She who was a meticulous housekeeper and

loved wedding white and

         milk glass and

    blonde furniture and

         Jack and Jackie Kennedy

    and bed dolls dressed like brides and southern belles 

 

She became a hoarder,

First filling up one house

So they bought a bigger house

-- she filled that one too

    With knicknacks and

    Magazines and

    Avon cosmetics and ...

Eventually the stuff, like an amorphous

creature with seven pairs of arms 

pushed away those who loved her,

replaced those who loved her  

 

Now she is gone.

A white graduation tassel,

A copy of Little Women inscribed by her mother,

A broken Timex stopped at 4:47

A divorce decree

and a mound of bills are

All that remain of a life of 81 years,

All that remain of 8 decades plus one.

 

Was it the Great Depression

Or the deaths of dear ones

Or a doting parent afraid of losing another daughter

Or a chemical imbalance

Or the devil himself 

That made stuff

Her drug of choice, 

That fed the dark creature

With a voracious appetite, 

Was it the persona or the shadow

    Chance or choice,

    Nature or nurture 

that pushed who she was created to be

over the edge,

    down

        down

            down

                  into the delusion that

we are happy by what we acquire

not by who we appreciate.

The Diamond

My father, Stanley James Harris, gave 29 years of his life to the Diamond Shamrock, fka the Diamond Alkali, until 1976 when they rolled up the bankroll and headed south, leaving in its wake hundreds without employment, an environment rippled with toxic waste, tens of thousands with lung and genetic disorders, and a burden on local, state, and federal taxpayers to clean the lake and scrub the land.  My mother, grandparents, uncles, neighbors, fathers of classmates worked there, too.  Nearly everyone in my hometown was related to or knew someone who worked there. 

 Not a fun place, but this is what our Dads, Uncles, Grandpas, Mothers,, Neighbors-- hard working Americans-- did.  The aftermath of World War II ushered in an era where farmers struggled to make a living; while industry offered financial security and the opportunity of a fresh start in the suburbs. For us Baby Boomers, this is part of our story--a tie that binds--and a tie tack as proof.

Winter Clings

By Katherine Harris Szerdy

Single solitary snowflakes drop 

        pause 

                  slide 

A lovely dance paced against the backdrop of

a Pastel sunset.

A scattering of gentle silent spinners

float playfully like downy milkweed

Flit here, flit there 

     Sassy

          Syncopated

as though they had wings and conscious intent,

Lighting upon the fence post until

A slight breeze resumes their choreography

     Down

         Down

                Down

         to the dried leaf of last year's hosta,

Gliding to the ground like a downy feather of a baby sparrow nesting in the birdhouse I built with Papa last spring and

Nailed to the trunk of the old oak

Whose bark, if you stare at it intently

Resembles an old Iroquois chief winking

As winter clings but springtime claims

Its territory

Its time.

Copyright 2016 by Katherine Harris Szerdy

David W. Shaner--a Remembrance

David W. Shaner--a Remembrance  

I loved him. He had a tremendous impact on my life--not sure I would have turned out as well without him. He was a WWII veteran of the Pacific theater, a gentleman, a class act, a perfectionist, and a strict disciplinarian. He was the most beloved...and hated...teacher at Riverside. I took every course he taught and had to learn how to knit and play chess to play Anne Frank's mother, sang and danced my way through Mame and Dolly, and was Maria in The Sound of Music. We remained close throughout the rest of his life--when my family and I moved to Orlando in '86, he bought a winter home in the Villages and we got together often. In 2005, I was one of the last to speak with him in his final days and was very surprised to have been one of 8 former students named in his will. I was asked to write a remembrance of DWS which was published in the program for the dedication of the auditorium in his name. 

He was my "Professor Higgins"--he took this scrawny teenage girl from an alcoholic home and opened my eyes and my heart to the realization that I could achieve my dreams. He held the bar far higher than we thought we could ever reach --and when we did, we gained the confidence and the character to reach further, jump higher, and we took that confidence out into the world. In his final speech to us before opening night of The Sound of Music in 1973, he said, "The perfect way is the only way, and the only way is the perfect way."  It was that philosophy which caused many to hate him, all of us to fear him, but it was also the magic that transformed many of our lives!  His impact on my life is immeasurable. 

Thx

I have issues with the word "Thanks" aka "Thanx."  

It's curt, brusque, insincere,

leaving the recipient in the wake of the speaker's speedy exit. 

It says, "I'm not grateful enough to give you more than a syllable or an extra second of my time."  

It's the vocabulary of entitlement. 

The phrase, "Thank you," is a bit better. 

It requires a turn of the cheek, 

     a moment of eye contact, 

     an extra breath to acknowledge the giver of the gift for their 

      Thought    effort     time. 

But best of all--"I am so grateful for you"..."I appreciate you"

Feels like a warm embrace, 

heart to heart engagement 

of both parties.

Dear Cleveland Plain Dealer,

Dear Senior Editor of the Plain Dealer, You are disappointing two of your loyal readers more and more these days. Tell me please--to what story is this headline attached?  

No story. 

Sheer speculation. 

No substantiation. 

Seriously?  

In the last year, it has become evident that you rely more on image than text to communicate the news, or should I say,  your spin on events impacting our community, our country, the globe. 

Gone are the days when assumptions and hype were taboo. 

Now, your editorial decisions are based on what headline and image will sell more papers than on the depth and accuracy of reporting. 

Even the reading level has dropped two levels. 

Your paper used to be written at a 7th-grade reading level--

now 5th grade--

and that's the classified section!  

Full page color photos have replaced the excellent writing of former columnists and beat reporters, many of whom were Pulitzer Prize winners!  

And your Customer Service department, well, don't get me started!!!  

Quite honestly, it's only because of 

Crankshaft and 

Bizarro and 

John Funk and 

Ted Crow and 

a sentimental attachment to newsprint and ink that keeps us subscribing.  

Sincerely yours... 

Katherine Szerdy & Steven Szerdy, 

loyal subscribers 

The Harris Sisters

The Harris sisters both married Hunkies and both had two boys but then one had a surprise and both love Jesus and reading the Bible and healthy eating and walking fast and Christmas and cabbage rolls and church potlucks and girly tea places and quiet time and wouldn't be seen out of the house without lipstick and hair perfectly coiffed and both sent two kids to the sandbox to serve their country more than once and once, all at once...  Katherine Szerdy and Linda Rusnak

Making Macabre Now Trumps Making Merry!

I've noticed in the past few years that Halloween has become nearly as big a celebration as Christmas.  It seems that more people decorate for Halloween than put up Christmas trees.  Installing dazzling light displays with flashing black lights and special effects that even Tim Burton would envy, our neighbors convert entire front yards into graveyards. 

The stores love it, too!  Beggar's night has become quite an industry--an entire season rather than one fun night wearing homemade costumes going door to door, little vagabond voices chiming, "Trick or Treat," holding out pillow cases in which to gather the sweet loot!  I remember well how long it took, how many doorbells we had to ring to collect a pound or two back in the day when candy was doled out a piece at a time. If you lived in the country, you were screwed. 

Target devotes a huge section of their store to Halloween right after the school supply lists are filled. These days, making macabre supersedes making merry. Yikes!  The average cost of costumes in the stores today are the same as a decent pair of shoes. Star Wars storm troupers ($40 @ Target) are most popular this year in honor of the release of the new Star Wars blockbuster on Dec 18. Brilliant marketing!?!  Hmm.  At least it gives a boost to big box stores' profit margins and the sagging Chinese economy.   And we have plenty of Storm Troupers crisscrossing our neighborhoods to intimidate us into obeisance. 

And more big kids are getting into the action today as over half the costumes sold in stores are adult sizes. When I was a kid, 14 was the max, the year we all dreaded as being too "old" to step out the door in costume.  It's a new millennium, however!  Millennial Trick-or-treaters aren't growing out of it these days--they go door to door with their kids in costume but linger with the neighbor's opting for a toddy over a treat!  Halloween parties litter our iCals for the entire month! 

I still say homemade is best, however.  This year, when my niece Chrissy asked her little 4-year-old Emma what she wanted to be this year, she replied, "A clock."   LOLOL!!!  I challenge you to find a clock costume in the stores!   So not wanting to disappoint her simple request, Grandpa and Chrissy got busy with a little old-fashioned felt and glue and it turned out adorable!  One of a kind--and one she can wear over her coat!   And little Emma comes away from this Halloween with much more than a felted timepiece--she is blessed with memories of treasured time with her Grampy. So much better than post-traumatic flashbacks of Target trips to grab the latest trend in mass-marketed Chinese-made cellulose and plastics destined for a post-Halloween trip to a landfill near you! 

Cannibus, Casinos, and What's Next?

10/1/2015--So pot is getting an awful lot of publicity these days!  I am sick of seeing every other ad on TV trying to convince Ohio voters of the benies of weed.  Millions of dollars in advertising are being spent as the BigBigMoney hiding behind The Ohio Rights Group, the organization responsible for the amendment on the ballot this fall, tries to sway Ohio voters----and where does this money come from??? The name of the ballot initiative in Ohio is “Responsible OH”---seriously?   I wouldn't have any issue with the plant's medicinal use---if these claims actually held up to research-- http://www.msn.com/en-gb/health/other/studies-show-medical-marijuana-unproven-to-help-many-illnesses/vi-AAc0vfq?refvid=AAclKvW  Savvy advertisers understand that appealing to viewers’ emotions using children is one of the most powerful forms of psychological manipulation.  If marijuana is such good medicine, then why, oh why, doesn’t the FDA approve it for that use alone and leave the voters out of it?  Why is recreational use tethered to medicinal use on the ballot?  The answer:  $$$$$$$$$$$$ This industry is so huge that they have a publishing empire spewing out their rhetoric---check out Marijuana Business Daily-- http://mjbizdaily.com or check out the The Cannabis Manifesto, their toke tome purporting what’s really on their economic/political agenda!   I’ve always said that the two greatest problems that plague this planet are greed and over-population. 

Weed is a weed is a weed…..Some might argue that it’s just a plant like tobacco is a plant.  A few decades ago, a doctor recommended to a dear friend of mine that she take up smoking to relieve her nerves.  Today, she is suffering tremendously from that prescription.  And the doc?  He committed suicide the following year.

Certainly the CEO of the Clinic, who happens to be a heart surgeon, has made it quite clear that not only will the legalization of this mind-altering substance cause long-term health issues, but these long-term health issues will contribute greatly to the exponential increase in healthcare costs which affect all of us.  With 40% of the citizens of Ohio relying on state aid in the form of Medicaid to pay for their healthcare, who will carry this burden?   The taxpayers!  You and me! 

We’re living in an age where the Supreme Court has circumvented the most fundamental tenet of our government, i.e. the separation of church and state, by granting themselves the power to decide on sacred religious issues.  The judiciary so loosely interprets the law and our commander-in-chief so disregards the law that those who enforce the law no longer have the support of those they pledge to protect!  This issue, if it passes, will only serve to further desecrate the moral fiber of this once great country.

Another commercial that started airing this week is for a medication that treats gambling.  Yep!  The pharmaceutical industry has jumped on this bandwagon, too! 

The drug manufacturer claims that gambling is 100% a biochemical imbalance and has nothing to do with choice.  Didn’t you realize when casinos were legalized in this state that an entire pharmaceutical industry would be built around such a vice? So how long will it be before we see pharmaceuticals specifically targeting the physical ramifications of marijuana use—newly legalized substances breed new diseases! 

Lydia Bolander, the spokesperson for the campaign to legalize cannibus here in Ohio, claims that the state will “use the taxes generated to help local communities provide vital public services.”  (PD 12-19-2014). Does that empty promise sound familiar?  Think back to the Ohio Lottery and more recently, the campaign bringing the casino industry to the state.  Sure, the Ohio Lottery has produced some revenue, some of which has gone to education, but the percentage promised doesn’t even come close to the percentage produced!

Did you know that Oregonians are celebrating Happy Marijuana Day today?  I pray Ohioans have enough intelligence to vote down the legalization of this weed.   Just remember, you can’t smoke your toke and eat it too!  WWJD!

Copyright 2015

Ground2Chuck, Minced not Chopped

Hubby and I enjoyed the blessing of spending the evening with this half of the Feldman team--our dear neighbors across the street. Yes, he saddled and rode up on his tractor lawn mower...I was surprised he didn't drive up his front end loader or the big tractor. He often likes to take those out to see how many folks he can hold up on the highway!   Anyway, his better half is helping take care of the grandchild down in Atlanta thus we couldn't let him dine alone, so we invited him up for sup.  

     Life's always an adventure with this retired school teacher, artist, writer, octogenarian turned garlic farmer!  On the riding mower, He brought up  a bushel basket filled with a thick 3-ring binder, a cassette tape player, and a huge canning pot filled with eight different types of lettuce and radishes just picked from the farm. One item was noticeably missing from the load--his 4-octave harmonica!  It's hard getting through a meal with this man without feeling like you've had an ab workout from all the hilarity!  But the tales don't start until after he blesses the meal and our time together, of course.  

     Following our supper, he asked Steve and I to hold hands while he played the recording of an ol' song from the forties. And he was serious about the holding hands part!  Of course we were a little embarrassed and just a little hesitant not sure what was coming, but we complied.  Behind the hiss and scratches of the obviously old song that he recorded on this ancient cassette tape recorder from a tune he found on YouTube--a song he remembered from his coming of age favorites from the 1940s sung by a humble country couple backed up with banjo and harmonica accompaniment--"We'll Grow Old Together".  The song finished with a yodel to which our dinner guest joined with his own skilled epiglottis, flipping into his adorable falsetto to which I half-expected the fox, and Bob, the ghost of our resident woodchuck, the Bedford bear, a half dozen deer,  and his dear beloved Marge followed by a few annoyed neighbors and even the Hudson police to appear from round the bend. Until the yodeling part, he kept his head bowed in utter seriousness, lost in his own reverie, expecting hubby and I to listen to the entire song with devotion in our hearts. We swayed in time to the Appalachian rendition of this old love song while hubby winked at me as if to say, I feel a sermon coming. Sure enough, as though stepping up to the pulpit, clicking the cassette off button with a flourish, he prefaced his sermon with, Well now that your youngest has flown the 

nest, it really is just the two of you now.  You know, I've known my beloved Wife of 55 years was the one since she told me she gave her heart to The Lord and said, 'I'll never turn back.'  We've heard the story a few times but never mind hearing it told again by this godly man and master storyteller who never fails to touch our hearts, tickle our funny bone, and entertain us with his unique view on politics and world events topped off with a yodel or accompanied by the 4-octave harmonica while wreaking of garlic!  

     Oh , and the notebook?  He recently finished another chapter of his (so far) 600-page memoir replete with thousands of photos!  This chapter recounts his 2-year deployment to Germany post WWII and he wanted to discuss how he could market this part of the story. What soldier do you know who actually kept a running narrative--both visual and textual-of every detail of his time in the service!  Well, Folks, that's our Chuck Feldman, our one-of-a-kind Chuckie.  Trust me, the Lord broke the mold after making this one!  We love him and Margie so dearly and feel very blessed to have them and their family in our lives. Feel like the good Lord planted us here for a reason. OK, well since this is starting to seem like a book, I'll sign out for tonight I mean this morning. Hugs

Wishes on the Wind

Dandelions

Yellow nuisance gadfly weeds

Pestilence?

No!  Soft sunshine surprises, that

Grace a sea of green,

Inviting monarchs to land,

Woven into the braids of Innocence.

Clutched tightly in tiny fists, become

A gift to she who gave her life…

Later morph into wishmakers.

Fluffy wishes--not a whim, but a prayer--

Scatter with the sweetness of a child’s breath.

Blow!

Then watch downy seeds scatter,

Born on the hope of a child’s dream,

Becoming tomorrow’s wishmakers dare to

Send roots down where man desires to keep

Carpet green, void of

Short-stemmed sunshine surprises

Who, when given half a chance,

Inspire wonder in the heart of Innocence.

© 2014 By Katherine L. Harris Szerdy
Dedicated to Sela and Lily Kate

Lies in the Mirror

What lies are you believing

as you gaze in the mirror?

Shame internalized from years of thinking you’re

     second best

          third fiddle

                 inferior

                         not as good as...

Parents fight so loud,

     What will the neighbors think?

Walk to the school bus stop,

              head hanging low.

         Shame by association

         Becomes an unwanted companion

Fighting words become internalized voices—

          devil loves to use those words

Fists with the steady beat of a drum,

     The pound of a hammer

         drive shame d

                                     o 

                                        w

                                            n

                                               deep in muscles and sinews,

          embed them deep in bones…

                right down to the marrow

You won’t be good enough until you

          Make the honor roll every time

You won’t be good enough until you

          get the lead in the senior class play.

You won’t prove yourself good enough until you

          find someone who will want to marry you.

          Who would want to marry you?

You can’t possibly be good enough until you

          Get your college degree—

          Be the first in the family

It’s your job to make them look good.

     It’s your responsibility!

Then people won’t think you’re from “bad blood.”

What lies have you believed

as you gaze in the mirror?

It’s all up to you, you know.

Intellect will raise you above the crowd

Success will prove your worthiness

Maybe the shame will go away when you

            Earn your Master’s….

                        And this accolade

                                    And that award

Collect enough to inflate ego and you

                        might      save       face

Garner enough awards to cover the wall

            And you might have enough to hide

The crack in the plaster

How about seminary…

                        That’ll get you a few steps closer

to heaven

But even so

You won’t be good enough until you…

STOP!

The lie is your golden calf

                            Perfection is the gold

                            Pride is the idol

There is only One who is perfect.

Seek Me first, my child—it’s the ONLY way.

Seek My face, not theological concept.

Relationship, not intellectual exercise, 

It’s not what you do…it’s Who you know

Immerse yourself in My word every day

Allow it to soak it into your heart—

          --into the marrow--

A balm to heal deep-seated wounds,

The one true Panacea which destroys old tapes.   

I am not interested in earthly credentials!

Praise and worship are the only essentials!

Neither recognition nor award offer salvation

Shame hangs in the shadows of the award collection

Allow My light to pierce the broken places,

     to penetrate the dark recesses

Look to me—I am the Golden Key

Allow my love to remove the glaze from eyes

     Wearied by the mesmerism of the morning mirror

Allow my grace to wipe away your tears

And my mercy to unlock the inner treasury—

     Of Truth—

     To soften a heart hardened by years of 

     Believing the reflection tells the whole story…

You can do nothing to earn My saving grace.

     No audience can give you that.

     No award can grant you peace.

     No accolade is the answer

My Truth is plain and simple.

     No college prof can teach it…   

     No degree can dispense it…

The world doesn’t get it.

     Scholasticism cannot grasp it.

     Cultural compliance complicates it.

Following Me costs everything

Yet I paid your debt—in full!

You think you’re running the show?  

There is nothing that you owe!

Wake up from the illusion that you’re in control.

Rest, trust, that I stand at the helm.

Healing doesn’t come from self-forgiveness

Healing comes from accepting My forgiveness

I love you so much that I allowed

   Life to knock you behind the knees

To remind you of your vulnerability

Choose to bow down on bended knee

In sweet surrender, in humility

The irony of surrender as strength

is the mystery!

Let go of your history—

Your life is not a tragedy.

Embrace your new destiny!

You love me that much?

Salvation is free?

I cast myself in the dust before You, Father!

Nothing that I can do

No nothing that I can achieve

I can of myself do nothing to earn it.

You freely gave it to me,

and continue to give it to me, here, right now!

I look in the mirror and see the reflection of

Your beloved child, redeemed, worthy.

Copyright 2014, Katherine Harris Szerdy

OFF THE GRID

By Katherine Harris Szerdy

Hocking Hills

     forced the Screen Queen to

Gaze at the afternoon light

     reflecting off young leaves,

Listen to the cat-like calls of deer

     beckoning little ones to stay close,

Smell spring saplings lift

      Rich loam from last year’s leaves--

Green tendrils unfurl, 

      nudging their way,

             seeking sun’s rays.

I soak up the silence,

      wallow in the whispers of

Foothills formidable enough

     to keep

              signals from

                    penetrating…

24 hours

     off the grid

          zero bars, no not one…

  And that’s a good thing.

© 2014