Sandra Dee

Grandma told me once,
with cheek in palm
while sitting at the kitchen table,

about the river.
How she hardly noticed
her boys

reaching blindly
for snapping turtles buried
beneath boulders

and mud.
She told of fingertips,
dead white

from dirty dishwater
soaked of it's clean
aroma, curling

the knife,
and whiskey breath
against her ear,

pulsing
a purpled eye.
She told how drops

of steam
eased down the pane,
settling

upon a chipped sill,
eroding her salvation
a few yards

from where the boys played,
deep in the Mississippi,
where she could end it all.
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I came across this poem today while reading my online version of Yoga Journal. I'm missing my Minnesota family on this Thanksgiving day, and this poem brought me comfort.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness
some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows
who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture.
Still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

(The Essential Rumi. Coleman Barks, HarperSanFrancisco, 1995.)
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This documentary was not what I expected. Actually, Timothy Treadwell was not what I expected. Perhaps I envisioned more of a "Grizzly Adams" type of character when I first heard about this movie. I anticipated the story of a celebrated hero and defender of nature's creatures. Instead, I found myself a little perplexed by Treadwell and his conduct with the grizzly bear. I was awed by how Treadwell consistently placed himself in such dangerous proximity to the bears. In many scenes Treadwell was so close that just one swipe of a massive paw would have easily decapitated him.

Treadwell's bizarre and larger-than-life personality seemed to border on insanity at times, especially towards the end of the documentary. But I admire his bravado for doing something that filled him with joy, meaning, and purpose. Too few of us have the conviction to do what we truly love.

Treadwell called himself a defender and protector of the grizzly bears in Alaska. I disagreed with his claim as I watche...click for more...

A monstrous groan filled the night from out of nowhere. Tears welled up in Clarence’s eyes as he listened to the ghastly sound. His hot, quick breath formed short puffs of steam into the cold air. His stomach sank into despair. He was all alone; lost in a pumpkin patch on Halloween night with the full moon as his only light.

What was that groan? He thought to himself, feeling a tingle of terror make its way down his spine. No matter what, he couldn’t reveal his fear.

“Okay you guys!” Clarence yelled. “Very funny! I’m on to you! You really think you can scare me? Hahaha! WHATEVER!”

Clarence looked down and noticed a heavy fog forming fast just above the ground, covering his feet and the hundreds of pumpkins that surrounded him.

“That’s a bit weird,” He said out loud to himself. He looked up and scanned the shadows in the moonlight. He thought he saw something move up ahead.

Clarence grinned to himself and he started moving forward. “I’ll scare the crap out of Buck bef...click for more...

I can’t remember her last name.
One day
she just didn’t show up for work.
At first people thought,
she’s one of those girls who get fired a lot.
Call the temp agency.

I do remember
she had hair the color of Independence Day.
Fire red against white skin,
freckles cascading from blue eyes that sparkled
like children running from a lit firecracker.

Her husband strangled her to death
in a ditch
next to a busy highway by a technical college
while glancing students drove by to get to class.
That’s why
Nicole didn’t show up for work that day.
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