Today has gotten away from me, so I’ve decided to use the prompt from Linda’s Just Jot It January for a quick post.Today’s prompt from Sally is “hyphenated.”
I love to use hyphenated words. I find hyphens useful in visually clarifying words, which, no doubt, means that I overuse them.
For example, I’m inclined to write non-fiction rather than nonfiction. Somehow, including the hyphen makes it easier for my brain to process the word.
Does anyone else share this quirk?
Yesterday, we took down our Christmas tree.
It’s a necessary task, but always a bit sad.
It’s also very nostalgic. This time, I was struck by these ornaments in particular.
These ornaments double as candy cane holders, so that they look like hobby horses when they hang on the tree. The red one was made over fifty years ago by my spouse B when he was in elementary school. The white one was made about thirty years ago by B’s mom, when she was teaching in elementary school and would lead her students in creating a holiday gift for their parents. She would always make extras to give to family members. I’m sure hers were prettier than her students, although all are equally treasured.
These and all the other ornaments are safely stowed now, waiting for next Christmas – or maybe the one after that, if we decide to spend the holidays in London this year.
Fortunately, the memories are easily accessible at any time.
*****
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Yesterday, for the second time in a week, I attended a memorial service. My spouse B and I attended services for Paul Everett. Paul and B had been co-workers at IBM for many years before Paul had to leave work for health reasons.
While Anita’s had been a Catholic funeral, Paul’s service was in the Reformed Protestant tradition. Because it was in non-liturgical form, the service was more easily molded to reflect Paul’s life and gifts, which, if you read the obituary linked above, you will realize were many and varied.
For example, all the music in the service was arranged by Paul for folk instruments. Paul had hosted a weekly folk session for many years and compiled his beginner-friendly arrangements in the Wednesday Night Jam Canonical Tune Book. B and I had chosen seats near the ensemble, which included guitars, piano, accordion, tin whistle, fiddle, and hammered dulcimer, an instrument that Paul had both constructed and played. The gathering music took place at the beginning of the service rather than before it so that we could listen and reflect instead of being distracted by conversation.
The homily was given by Paul’s son Isaac, who inherited his father’s love of music and theology, studied them, and became both a professional musician and an ordained minister. Isaac used his father’s love for the Book of Jonah as a lens to relate who his father was. It was moving and heart-felt and beautifully crafted. I’m sure Paul, who had served as a deacon and lay preacher himself, would have been proud. Isaac also played guitar and piano during the service.
During fellowship time after the service, B was able to connect with some retired IBMers who were in attendance and reminisce about Paul, including his adventures and misadventures building boats and taking them out on the waters. Fortunately, Paul’s nautical journeys went better than Jonah’s!
Later in the afternoon, I went to vigil mass at my home parish. The opening hymn was “Here I Am, Lord” which was the gathering song for Anita’s funeral. At communion, we sang “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” which we had sung at Paul’s memorial service. The echo of these songs calls me to reflect on what my call is at this time of my life, increasingly cognizant that I am much closer to the end of my life than the beginning.
Rest in peace, Anita. Rest in peace, Paul. Thank you for your example of how to live fully until the end.
*****
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Once upon a time, I lived in a town of about 200 people in western Massachusetts. Well, 200 if you counted the people in the prison camp up on the hill, who lived in what had been built as lodgings for CCC workers back in ’30s. When I was in Girl Scouts, we used to go to the camp for lessons in ceramics and jewelry making and such. My daughter has a tooled leather belt that my sister made there. The crafts kept the prisoners occupied and they sold some beautiful pieces in their gift shop.
We had a grammar school in town. Four grades in one room downstairs and the four older grades in a classroom upstairs. The school was also built in the ’30s by the WPA. Jobs that helped workers during the Depression and that helped the town for decades after. My father lived in town then and was in school when they moved to the new building.
The largest employer in town was a paper mill along the river which made specialty papers, like the glassine that used to cover envelope windows before there were plastics. They used to make the wrappers for Necco wafers; I remember seeing them made on a school field trip to the mill.
Life was good. Everyone knew everyone. We were probably a bit behind the times but no one much cared about that.
Greater forces did impact us over time, though.
Jobs were moving South. The owners of the mill closed it. Some jobs and the people that filled them moved to Georgia. Some other folks found jobs locally, although other towns were also losing their mills, so jobs weren’t easy to come by. Even the prison camp closed.
The town got smaller. When there were only seven kids left in town who were in K-8, the school closed and the students were bussed to a neighboring town. Eventually, even the post office closed.
The town is still there, though. The people are resilient. Everyone knows everyone. They recently celebrated the town’s bicentennial.
And they all lived happily ever after.
*****
Linda’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday this week was to begin with “Once upon a time.” I chose to end this (mostly) true tale with the classic fairy tale ending. Join us for SoCS and/or Just Jot It January! Details here: https://lindaghill.com/2023/01/13/the-friday-reminder-for-socs-jusjojan-2023-daily-prompt-jan-14th/
While I don’t usually use the prompts that Linda helpfully lists for Just Jot It January, I decided to use the prompt today from Sadje, reversal.
I immediately thought of role reversal in the context of family, specifically as it pertains to generational caregiving. As a child, my parents took care of me and my sisters. When I became an adult and especially a mother myself, I appreciated that my parents continued to care for us, although in a different and appropriate way than when I was a child.
As my parents aged and encountered health problems, though, our roles reversed and I became a caregiver to them. That being said, caring for an aging parent is different than caring for a child. My parents had chosen to enter a senior continuing care community, so household help and the ability to move between levels of care from independent to assisted to skilled nursing was available to them. I was able to concentrate on helping with medical needs, handling bills, chauffeuring, running errands, and emotional support.
Our roles reversed in terms of caregiving but not in personal terms. They were always my parents and I was always their daughter. Even though they have both passed away now, I’m still their daughter.
That will never change.
I’m thinking about this in a particular way right now as I’m preparing my chapbook Hearts for publication later this year by Kelsay Books. The poems center around my mother, particularly her last few years battling heart disease. There are several poems that deal with the generations of women surrounding her, her mother and me, her granddaughter, and great-granddaughter.
Earlier this week, I received a beautiful blurb that will go on the back cover. It referenced this generational element in the manuscript.
I cried.
*****
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Last week in the United States, we marked the second anniversary of the January 6th attack on our Congress by supporters of then-President Trump who were trying to keep the election of Joe Biden from being certified.
There was a short, solemn ceremony on the Capitol steps, led by House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries. Families of officers who died in the aftermath of the attack read their names and a bell was rung in their memory. There was a period of silent reflection of 140 seconds to honor the 140 officers who were injured that day, some so severely that they had to leave their jobs permanently. Unfortunately, the vast majority of Republican House members chose not to attend. Only one was spotted among the 200+ Democrats commemorating the day.
In the afternoon, President Biden honored fourteen individuals with the Presidential Citizens Medal. Nine were police officers who worked to defend the Capitol. Sadly, three of the medals were given posthumously. I was especially moved by the acknowledgement that the two officers who died by suicide after dealing with trauma from the attack were its victims as much as if they had died as a direct result of physical injury. Also honored were five people who upheld the integrity of the 2020 election, despite threats and actions against them.
Meanwhile, the House Republicans not only did not show respect for the anniversary but also displayed their inability to govern effectively. Late in the evening of January 6th, Kevin McCarthy failed to be elected Speaker for the fourteenth time. Two years ago, McCarthy was among the 139 House Republicans who refused to certify state electors in the 2020 presidential electoral college, even after the mob had broken in, ransacked the Capitol, and threatened to harm or kill Vice President Pence, Speaker Pelosi, and members of Congress. Many of those 139 are still in Congress, including some who are known to have been involved in efforts to overturn the 2020 election. It’s not known if any of them will eventually face charges or other consequences for their actions, but their refusal to honor the sacrifices of the officers who defended them two years ago was telling.
In the early morning hours of January 7th, McCarthy won the speakership on the 15th ballot because enough Republicans voted “present” rather than “no” for him to get the majority of votes cast. Unfortunately, McCarthy and the House Republicans so far have shown no intention of working with Democrats toward effective governance. They have passed a rules package that calls for votes on bills that the Senate will never take up, gutted the Office of Congressional Ethics, and passed a meaningless bill to require care for a baby born alive after an attempted abortion, meaningless because, in the rare instances where this occurs, those protections are already in place.
I am still holding out hope that there will be a few moderate Republicans who will join with House Democrats to pass needed bills into law over these next two years. It may take a lot of complicated maneuvers to get bills to the floor, such as discharge petitions. Of course, it would be much easier if McCarthy reaches out to craft bipartisan bills for the good of the American people but he hasn’t shown that level of political ability as of yet.
Stay tuned.
*****
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The moment a woman comes home to herself, the moment she knows that she has become a person of influence, an artist of her life, a sculptor of her universe, a person with rights and responsibilities who is respected and recognized, the resurrection of the world begins.
Joan Chittister
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This morning, I sang for the funeral of Anita Alkinburg Shipway. She was a member of the music ministry at a church that I attended for a number of years, but our primary connection was through poetry.
When I joined the Binghamton Poetry Project in 2014, Anita was already involved. I got to know her better when we were both invited to join Sappho’s Circle, a women’s poetry workshop convened by Heather Dorn. We later also participated in some workshops with the Broome County Arts Council.
I always admired Anita’s storytelling ability both in conversation and in writing. She often used the tools of narrative poetry to reveal the truth – and quirks – of human nature. She smiled and laughed easily while also being very sympathetic when we most needed it. I appreciated the depth of her wisdom as an elder.
When the pandemic moved the Binghamton Poetry Project to Zoom, Anita joined us as often as she could, despite some technical challenges. We often joked with her about the cuckoo clocks in her home that would add their voices to ours. She shared a poem about them here. You can find more of her poems in the Binghamton Poetry Project online anthologies.
Originally, Anita was scheduled to participate with me in a Zoom reading for National Poetry Month in 2021, sponsored by the Broome County Arts Council and WordPlace. Unfortunately, she got trapped in the Zoom waiting room and wasn’t able to be recorded. I sincerely regret not being able to share any video of her reading her work.
Anita died at Mercy House, a residence for those near the end of life. Anita had volunteered at Mercy House and it’s a comfort to know that she was in such a familiar and peaceful place in her last days.
I was upset to learn that COVID played a part in her death. Apparently, a COVID infection interacted with other medical conditions and Anita could not recover. It reminded me again to remain cautious. I know that, despite my best efforts, I may someday contract COVID and could infect someone else, but I don’t know if I could forgive myself if I was being cavalier about infection and passed the virus on to someone who suffered grave consequences.
Anita visited Top of JC’s Mind and would occasionally comment on posts. More often, she would write to me directly. I remember having a discussion with her about what it means for something to be “top of mind.” Apparently, her Midwestern upbringing a generation before my New England one resulted in a different interpretation of the phrase.
No matter.
Today, Anita is at the top of JC’s Mind.
Rest in peace and eternal joy, Anita. May choirs of angels greet you and lead you to paradise.
*****
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I’m excited to share that my poem “April 19, 2022 – Vestal, New York” has just been published by Third Wednesday Magazine on their website and will be included in their quarterly print edition this spring!
This poem began as a Binghamton Poetry Project prompt on that date from workshop leader Suzanne Richardson. We were studying the use of a central image or metaphor. We were meeting via Zoom as I sat at my desk in the midst of a late snowstorm, so snow/storms became the central image.
One thing about writing from prompts in a workshop is that there isn’t a lot of time for planning, so I tend to go with the first thing that presents itself. Fortunately, I had experience with snowstorms, so my mind had somewhere to turn.
I workshopped the poem with the Grapevine Poets and did revisions before sending it out. I’m grateful that it has found a home with Third Wednesday!
*****
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Just a quick evening post today, because I’ve had a busy weekend with two performances of Twelfth Night with the Madrigal Choir of Binghamton.
Both performances were well received by very appreciative audiences. As always, there are moments that don’t go quite as well as they might have but those aren’t noticeable to the audience, so they don’t matter in the long run.
I was happy to have family and/or friends at both performances. I loved the opportunity to share this music and celebration with them. After the performance today in Greene, there was a lovely reception, which afforded us a chance to meet some of our audience members. This was the first time we had sung in Chenango County, so it was nice to have new community connections.
Madrigal Choir now has a bit of a break before our next set of rehearsals begins for an American Songbook concert in April. Stay tuned!
*****
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Joanne Corey 