The Blue Grosbeak at Jordan Dam, near Moncure, N.C. *** The Late Years Forty-ThreeAugust 25, 2019 We have so many poisons now. It’s a wonder we stay alive as long as we do. We kill on purpose and by accident with our pesticides and herbicides, by what we let out of our smokestacks and car exhausts. Our big trucks do their share with their diesel engines as they drag their logs and tankers uphill. No wonder our emergency rooms are crowded and we die before our time. Still, I have lived this long: eighty-two years. I can look at death and nod. Yes, eventually. I recognize the land of the dead when I see it. Broken rocks, all sizes, browns and greys. No color. No vegetation. It had seeds, but it was sprayed to kill any life, vegetable or animal. Yet I hear a cricket, and then the true miracle: the heart-shaped leaves of morning glory outwitting a rock death, rain finally rinsing off enough poison to bring forth something green right at the edge. Leave those rocks alone, and they will bring forth the undead, the vine, and in time the pink, purple, blue buds, which will
Judy, while teaching at her Lifestyle Workshop for Writers on June 1. Photo by Elisabeth Plattner. Usually I put up a blog on Sunday, but last Sunday, I went to the Emergency Room to see about this possible small stroke I had on Saturday. They did many tests, and no brain damage. Here's the poem. I just remembered to do my blog for last week. JH *** The Late Years Forty-TwoAugust 18, 2019 For my audience at South Regional on August 17, 2019 A curious conjunction. I had them laughing, mesmerized, their eyes alight. They wanted to hear every word I said, but my words skittered away from me. I said the wrong one, or the word I wanted vanished while I tried to find another one that would work. What overwhelmed my mind that Saturday in the library I loved? About ten women came, and my son Tim, who brought me and also carried in the box of books I wanted to sell. A lovely librarian, Teresa, had everything set up, even cookies and tea. She had a sound man put a mike on me and adjusted it. Women drifted in, eager, curious, and I welcomed them all. Then I transformed them, even while my mind was playing tricks. Was I having a stroke in the middle of my success? By 4:30, I wanted to go home, but they didn’t want to leave. Most stayed talking while Tim packed up the books. He brought me my yoghurt drink, and our friend Virginia rubbed my back. Slowly, I felt better. I pulled on a long- sleeved shirt and wasn’t too hot as we drove home in ninety-degree weather. I rested while they made supper.
Judy by her hydrangea bush in early spring 2019 *** The Late Years Forty-OneAugust 11, 2019 It’s so easy to worry, and I do. About money, my health, my friends. Then come the surprises. The credit card company tells me I have money with them which I didn’t know about. They sent it to my bank. It’s teaching time, but where are all my students? I write to two of the silent ones. They answer that, yes, they’ll take my class, and one wants to take them both. I Spend a day quietly to give my heart time to heal, get back to normal. It does heal. I rise early, breakfast as usual, and take my morning walk. The little bird sings to me before sunrise. My friends see something in me they value. They hang on, let me see their agony. I wish them courage. In this life we never get to coast. It’s “work, work, if we don’t work, we don’t get anything, not even love.”* My Muse lives, my health holds. I have enough money. There are tears, but laughter, too. Don’t forget to give thanks.
Photo by Tim Hogan The Late Years FortyAugust 4, 2019 Lacrimosa was the name for Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor, played so often when we lose people. Tearful. Full of tears. Yet we laughed when Johnsie joined us. She’s still fighting her own personal war with an enemy invading her body. We hug her. Keely has brought a cake to celebrate Dean’s birthday and mine, and the halt of the Atlantic Coast Pipeline, which is to bring fracked gas and its accompanying explosions into North Carolina. We’ve already lost too many fervent souls. They fight and they smile as long as they can. On other fronts, love is demonstrated other ways. We have a leak bringing down our ceiling plaster. I call Gene. He has lost sight in one eye. A retina got detached. He guides Tim by their smart phones through the steps to stop the leak. Tim had planned to sleep in, but he calls Gene to learn how to stop the leak. Gene describes that he needs to blow down a clogged pipe, but how to do that? Finally, Tim finds a way, and a lot of gunk come out and then the water that had been blocked. The air-conditioner works again, and the wet ceiling dries. We take a long breath. If only we could save Johnsie, bring back sight in Gene’s eye.
