beweaveit

The Weaver

admin — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 01:01:23 +0000

Years ago, when a precious cat named Doc died, I was inconsolable; before that great palliative called time could work its magic, I found the following writing. Since then, whenever pain and grief present themselves, like now, the words regain their poignancy. I thank the writer, whoever he or she was, for sharing this with us.

Correction!: I had thought the composition was written by “Unknown Weaver”; it has been brought to my attention (by a dear friend whose indefatigable curiosity propelled this quest for truth) that the writer was Grant Colfax Tullar (b. 1869 d. 1950).

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving,
Between my God and me;
I do not choose the colors,
He worketh steadily.
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent,
And shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas,
And explain the reason why…
The dark threads are as needful
In the skillful weaver’s hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

Grant Colfax Tullar

Food for thought

admin — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 02:22:43 +0000

She came into the lab waiting room not long before the staff was going to lock the door for 12:00 lunch, but because the room was packed with people waiting for tests to be performed, you could tell that the staff wasn’t going to have much time, if any, for lunch before they would have to re-open. The lady was small and exuded a certain air of dignity and elegance. Her age was advanced, and she seemed a little bit disoriented as she made her way up to the receptionist with small steps with the aid of a quad cane. She wore a beautiful fleece jacket with cardinal birds all over it. Well, some of us were shooting the breeze (let’s cheer up these people!), so when she sat down next to me, I asked her where she got her beautiful jacket; she asked me to repeat myself because she had forgotten her hearing aid. She informed me that she had made it herself, and I must say it was a beautiful piece of work in every detail. We talked about sewing, and she said she had six machines, mostly Vikings, but she couldn’t sew anymore. She said she had a little six-year-old Cocker Spaniel named Buffy (or Muffy- I wouldn’t ask her to repeat). She said she had fallen twice recently, but she had Life Alert, and she’d never give up her dog. I asked her if someone was helping her, and she said she had no one. No family. The neighbors were hardly ever home. Furthermore, she had driven herself there, AND she was 93! She said she had called “places”, and they wanted $100 per day. Before I left the lab, I took her hand and suggested she tell her doctor that she could use a little help and she didn’t want to pay. She smiled.

Forgiveness

admin — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 03:56:26 +0000

Years ago, while living and working in Monterey, Ca., Margie, a co-worker, asked me to go with her up to San Jose to take the EST training. She wanted someone she knew to make the trip with her. After hemming and hawing, I agreed, saying to myself, “Why not?” The hundreds of people in the group received the same input, but in that we are all different, that input reverberated differently in each of us. I cried and cried, and I forgave (for they knew not what they did) and asked to be forgiven (for I knew not what I did till later). Of course those whom I forgave and whom I asked for forgiveness never knew this, but I reckon a Higher Power did. There had been so much pain that had been covered up with unconsciousness, and now I was waking up. It felt like festering wounds that had been covered up with bandages that now had to be peeled off so they could heal in the light and air. The process took a long time, and it hurt, because everything had to be looked at and re-lived. “Amazing Grace”: a most beautiful song.

Late September

admin — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 15:02:08 +0000

Trees, clouds, sea, sky,
a breeze, a certain quality of light,
all blended into fullness of feeling,
rather than perceived with one limited sense
like sight –
feeding the soul in this almost-October.

Simple exchange- many angles

admin — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 01:32:26 +0000

I was dreading the upcoming V.P. debate, but I felt if others whom I respect could watch it, I could get up the courage as well. After all, I could turn down the volume and observe facial expressions and body language or maybe even detect their auras without the distraction of noise. So anyway, that day I was hanging out clothes, and my neighbor was gardening, so I shouted over the fence, “Are you watching the debate tonight?” She said, “I don’t know whether I can handle it!” I asked, “What do you think of Palin?” She answered, “I can’t STAND her!” [My neighbor is a hairdresser, so she knows.] Then I said, “I dunno- I can’t put my finger on it….” My neighbor said, “Well you’re smart, and she’s STUPID!” Well, that was a nice compliment to me. Anyway, I need to analyze why I don’t like her, and I haven’t gotten there yet. I did do an internet search to see if chronic wasting disease had been found in Alaskan caribou and moose (no positive results), hypothesizing that this could account for some of her statements which seem illogical or bass ackwards in their sentence construction.

Aster update

admin — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 16:07:58 +0000

The day the first and only aster bloomed was a Sunday. A neighbor died that day at home from a long-standing condition; his passing was still a shock though it was expected at any time. So I cut that aster along with multiple buds so there would a long-enough stem (I almost didn’t cut it because of the thought of sacrificing those buds, but then I thought- how udderly shellfish! You don’t die every day!) I joined some neighbors keeping watch over him until the funeral people came, and I placed the aster on his chest.

Later that day, I called Rose to see if she’d like some company. Because she previously said she was being tested for diabetes, I asked if she could have the chocolate and halvah I’d purchased. She said, “No! I’m diabetic now- can you believe this at my age!” She said she was 86 going on 87- not 85. She said, “Just bring yourself!” So I went over with the magazines. Of course there were no more asters. I didn’t tell her about the neighbor.

The aster flowers are no longer blooming, but soon I’ll have mums for Rose.

Time and asters

admin — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 00:53:44 +0000

Another year has almost rolled around, and the asters are about to bloom again. They are incredibly healthy and prolific to the point of nearly crowding out the special orange/rust/yellow/beige mums. The asters are an awe-inspiring blue-purple. I planted both the asters and the mums about 12 years ago. The asters’ leaves will turn moldy if I water from overhead, but they they have no objection to rain. There are many wild asters proliferating this year, too. Their flowers will be whitish-pink. I will bring flowers to my friend, Rose, when they bloom. Rose is 85. I also bring her my magazines, pistachio halvah, and organic chocolate mints. I call on her every 3 to 6 weeks, but she could use more company.

The couch

admin — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 00:53:30 +0000

Or should I say the couches. Both were a cream color with a slightly rustic weave. They felt nubby, but this was because the nubs were pills that couldn’t be easily if at all plucked from the fabric. Over the years, one of the two couches would become my bed when I visited. If it was the loveseat, I either curled up on my side or, on my back, propped my lower shins up on the far arm. The placement of the couches in the small living room dictated which of the two was destined to become the temporary sleeping quarter. I wanted to be able to see the t.v.- the channels, particularly news, weather, and public access, were so different from those I had at home that they were absorbing, and thus, conducive to sleep. A sheet would be found and folded in such a way as to become both the bottom sheet and a cover.

Tim Russert

admin — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 00:39:54 +0000

Dear Tim, I took you for granted. You were one of the truly great ones. Your aura radiated truth and integrity. We the People needed you. It is shocking that you left just like that. Please continue to shine down on us, and please pray for us. Thank you.

Redwing Blackbirds

admin — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 00:05:08 +0000

Here! Let’s all sit in these treetops and rest our wings!

We’ll sing, and we’ll gossip about Spring and other things!