Sunday, December 18, 2016


My grandmother Grace Roys, Nanking, 1911

Full Bloom  21

This book is my tribute to my grandparents, 
a gift my maturity and sanity can give. I'll 
find the answers, and then my feet will return 
me into the light, with Grace, redeemed, beside me.
Full Bloom 10.

I did what felt impossible. I agonized:
so many computer tricks I could not do.
Yet I had a publisher. I could  not refuse. I 
must learn and seek help. I learned. Help 
came. Other women wanted to read this story 
of my grandmother Grace--gifted, lively, 
funny, and fragile. Even in doing this work 
of manuscript preparation, I proved I was
tough. I worked through my panic, gave
myself courage. I learned beyond what I
had believed myself able to learn. All the
pieces are in place but one. I long to
receive it, but someone else must provide
for this one piece, this last gift. Now come
two warm days into our winter life, with
more Arctic blasts to follow. We live
in perilous times; more storms, more
pollution, more hatred, more power
plays. It's tempting to turn away, throw 
up  our hands, say we're too busy, too old,
too scared. That way lie nightmares.
To turn those fearful ones around, we
must summon courage. It begins in terror,
inches slowly forward. We do the easy things 
first; ask help; move through one more
nightmare. People begin to follow, summon
their own strength and resilience, learn that
acting silences terror. There was once a
woman who danced on the way to the gas
chamber. We remember her. Here we may 
come to that last brave act. How many 
of us will dance? If we all dance, no one
will die. Dancing is more contagious than
submission to what we know is wrong.
Human beings know how to love. Isn't it
time we obeyed our inside law to love
our neighbors as ourselves?

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