For Dawn Marie Catherine - to honor your brother.

A man often asks himself, “Who might I be?” defining himself by a role
Of all the parts he plays in his life, none will define his true soul
Husband or son, brother or coach, worker or father of two
None of the titles, labels and names will speak of his goodness on cue

Answers to a question like that need help and assistance to learn
For boys are raised up to protect and provide and are not often taught to discern
Not without wishes, remorse and some ill, a man lives his life best he can
Sometimes his best may seem very little as castles constructed of sand

But the grains that made his castle remain, they never go far or away
His ideas and passions, values and creeds remain with those who must stay
I didn’t know Douglas so my thoughts may be wrong but sharing these things I will do.
How can he write this? How dare he, you ask? I write what he feels like through you.

Compassionate, caring, with love on his sleeve.
Wry sense of humor, absurd
To those who surround him, he lightens their load
With a smile, a touch and a word

Those gestures of care and of giving
With zeal and his obvious pride
Hide a deep side that’s quite often missed
Except by those with whom he has cried

Good with a story or twist of a phrase
Able to laugh and enjoy
Not being the easiest one to believe
That’s ‘cause he’s your brother, a boy

Wind-in-his-face kind of a guy
Loving the turns and the bends
Straight lines are boring, the reasoning here
Is that you can see both the ends

Especially with those he is close to
Able to kid and cajole
A memory of faux pas’ long ago past
For that is part of his role

Complex is defined by numbers of threads
Woven and tangled by time
Combined with experience, weakness and strength
God’s loom of uniqueness, sublime ©

Grandpa's Love

The day I first hear about you, I love you

– because you are you.

Before you arrive, I love you

– because you are you.

The day you are born, I love you

– because you are you.

The first time I see you,

The first time I hold you in my arms,

The first time we play together,

Each day I love you

- because you are you.

There are no days when I love you more

Each day I love you because you are you

There are no days when I love you less

Each day I love you because you are you

As a small child, crawling about

As a youngster, chasing and playing

As an adolescent, conversant and growing

As a young adult - and as a grown-up person

I love you because you are you

On your first birthday, I love you

- because you are you

All the days in between until on your last birthday –

- I love you because you are you

Always know, my grandchild,

My love for you is constant

My love for you is continuous

My heart leaps for joy when you are happy

My heart breaks when you are sad

I love you now and forever. ©

Grandpa

Just Noting ......

Spent a large part of the “warm” weekend pulling snow off of the roof. Tons of snow that had a 3” layer of crust over it. Breaking loose, the slabs would slide down, gaining speed as they neared the eave, and glide over the edge, shaking the deck as they hit. I’d brace myself against the ladder and they’d hit me in the shoulder before smashing to the driveway or the patio. What fun!
Father Pat (a Francisan brother) came over for lunch on Sunday and we talked about the state of the church in the US and the necessity of using the laity to lead – lessening the hierarchal aspect of Catholicism, as well as the need to amend and augment the lessons learned in seminary school.
Over time, I’ve become convinced that the Catholic church needs orators in the pulpit and they seem to be few and far between.

Casting Off

Had lunch with a friend of mine who, with his wife Patty, has spent most summer weekends of his adult life sailing Lake Superior. "Casting Off" was written for them ...

Casting off, they’d loosed the lines

And turned to face the breeze

Twenty seven years they’ve sailed the lake

Companions, mates at ease

And tacked across expanse of blue

At knots at times deemed high

To push themselves beyond the known

At times, the wind a sigh

Explored the shores, the coves and tors

Perched high upon the hills

Of islands set upon the waves

The view from which gives thrills

To look out on the placid seas

And know from where they’ve been

In truth it matters not one whit

Should becalmed remain the wind

The sailing has enthralled them since

They first became as one

To stand upon their deck and peer

At rise or setting sun

And times the storms have roiled

Their craft o’er waves blown rough and high

And made them better sailors

As on life’s seas they ply

Their long experience, intimate

Of themselves and of their mate

See through the deepening troughs of life

And so the seas placate

Someday, becalmed, they’ll come to peace

With one last sail to make

And off into the glorious eve

Together they’ll partake.

Diamond or Prism - continued

Part two:

I’ve thought of that glass, that small little thing
Quite often the past many years
As I stew in my mind the problems at hand
And bounce things around with my peers

Here is the thought that occurs to me
See if you think it makes sense
Our God given gifts we use as the light
Through a prism or diamond and hence

There are those who when challenged to think
Go quickly to blue or to green
With thoughts like a prism, they break it apart
And decide which color is seen.

The opposite trait is the thinker who sees
Like diamonds which capture the light
It bounces around its faceted walls
And fires out bursts left and right

Both types are good, they come from the source
Of life, from heaven above
There isn’t a good or better or worse
We all receive it in love

This brings me to ponder the question
Of which one am I and are you?
For if we’re to love each completely
The way we see light will construe

The way we see love and affection
The way we see others and self
The way we treat dogs or a hamster
The way we see riches and wealth

The answer to me is the bauble
That which I found long ago
To look out at life as the diamond
Is the way we just happen to glow.

Diamond or Prism

Part One:

Once as a child, a bauble was found
A treasure of glass at my toes
In hindsight a piece of an old chandelier
But what does a boy know of those?

From where it had come or what it had been
There wasn’t a clue in the dirt
But O what a treasure it turned out to be
As I polished it off on my shirt

The tricks that it played as it came to see light
Were wonderously amazing to see
Not knowing the how, the why or the what
Made it magic to us – and to me.

It still is, this trick of God’s crystal clear world
But the structure of light is well known
Although we now know the why and the what
It’s the how that He keeps quite unshown.

As we held up our treasure to consider its source
We noticed the colors come through
The light we were using to examine our find
Was first red, then yellow, then blue.