#83 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- CHRISTMAS 1987

 In December 2004, I began to collect for our now-very-adult children, Christmas letters, thoughts, and poems I wrote over the years. The first poem jumped into my head in 1972. It was about a king’s son asked to take an ambassador’s trip. An allegory, I suppose. I’ve just re-read it, and I must say, “Ghastly.”

       “You need not pack rich gifts, my son; nor with princely costume bother . . .”See? You won’t be receiving that one.

But, fun for me, and perhaps some enjoyment for you, I’m riffling through the stack that covers many of the years between 1972 – 2015. I’ll be sending some during December. Here then, a poem and a journal’s note from Christmas 1987.

The Heron. - 1987

CHRISTMAS POEM - 1997

“Hallelu!” sings Heron from the top of the tree,

“The baby is born.”

“Ho! snaps crow from pond’s edge below,

       “The baby is born . . . but my feather is torn!

       The tide is in, and the clam beds thin.

Gulls steal the best of the fine salmon heads,

And Kingfisher’s stolen my Pine-bough bed!

       Sparrows and robins get seed from a feeder

       While I scratch from the tide what Poseidon provides

       When his whims lend to fattening the crows . . .              

Heaven knows I deserve to complain!

Yet you, dear friend with the spindle-stick legs and log-scraping voice,

Would have me rejoice,

For a Baby is born.

       CAW! FIE! My feather is torn!”

From ocean-waxed roots of the great fallen tree

Came these words from the small Winter Wren,

       “Like the world as a whole, you sorry proud Crow,

              Injured

                  Imperfect

                    And torn.

So, sing in your sorrow and sing in your joy

For today, the Baby is born!”

o    

STORGE . . . the dog of my heart

From my journal, December 26, 1987 - Camarillo, CA

“Christmas – with a living Monterey Pine on a table because our puppy, Storge, is big and curious and six months old. Christmas ’87 is one day behind us.

This season, Gordy is in Hawaii with his brother, Doug. We think he will move there.

Kim has been accepted at University of Puget Sound, Tacoma Washington, for the fall ’88,

Today, Dave begins semi-annual American Airline captain’s training in Dallas, and tomorrow I fly to Phoenix to see my parents for two days.

This year for Christmas, I gave Dave a late-19th century Leeds, England oak desk. I love it, I paid for it, and I think he is happy with it.

In this journal is a ‘Caspian’ feather—white with a blue sprig. Caspian, the parakeet that among many other things, sang “Merry Christmas,” barked like the dog, meowed like the cat, and copied the tick, tick, of my electric typewriter. This year, I wrote one of my favorite poems based on an early visit to Washington state where eventually we will live. It’s about a heron, a crow, and a wren. I like it.

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