I love cats, but haven't owned one for twenty four years. Before I married my husband I had two cats, a mother and son named Mitts and Bits. I had to give both away when Todd came on the scene. ( He loves cats too, but is allergic to them.) So, I traded two cats for one man, and all these years later I still feel (most days!) like I made a good swap.
These last four days I've been cat-sitting for my sister while she visits our mother. Her cat, Vada, is a funny little beast. She was found as a very small kitten by my niece, and the theory that accounts for her drooling is that she was never sufficiently nursed by her mother. For years she lived like a hermit in my sister's basement - by choice. She was skittish, wary of people and perhaps a bit intimidated by my sister's older and larger cats. My sons, as small boys were always excited by a Vada sighting. ("I saw the little cat!" they'd tell me with excitement, like they were reporting a sighting of Yeti or something equally unbelievable.)
When Vada was about seven years old my sister acquired a Golden Lab named Jake, and for some inexplicable reason Vada adored him. The two would snuggle up together, which was always a sweet sight. Maybe she loved the big galoot because he was the laziest and gentlest dog you could ever meet. (He took his meals lying down, for goodness sake!) Jake died a year ago, and Vada misses him.
She's an old cat now - nineteen years old. According to my sister she has maybe one tooth left. She still drools, and has the loudest, most alarming voice I've ever heard. Vada is a high maintenance kitty at this point. She gets three square meals a day of watered down wet food with a side order of kibble. Two meals a day she gets pills, divided and disguised in pill pockets, and she gets a few treats with each meal too - which she always gobbles first. Meals don't stay with her very long. I've scooped her litter box multiple times a day since I took over as caretaker, and this morning I had to spend several long, memorable moments scrubbing cat vomit off my sister's treadmill. The strange part of all of this is that old and infirm as she is, I've never seen Vada happier. In her dotage she's become an affection junkie, purring for hours on end as my son Sam and I take turns stroking her.
I like to think we're helping to make her last days her best days.
In honor of Vada I'll share the one and only poem I've ever written about cats - a lighthearted description of how to bathe our feline friends. (I'm not about to try this with Vada!)
On Bathing the Cat (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Aug. '07)
Cat owners who have allergies
can try to bathe dear Fluffy -
or they can choose to sniff and sneeze
and go on feeling stuffy.
I read instructions recently
that explained how you proceed
to get this job done decently
and survive the nasty deed.
Most cats aren't fond of getting wet,
so you ought to trim her claws -
(it takes a certain etiquette
to give manicures to paws.)
If you have managed this first chore,
arms and sanity intact -
then fill the tub and bar the door,
or she'll bolt and that's a fact!
Now I'm afraid you must get tough -
with gentle force just grip her -
and hold her firmly by the scruff
as you attempt to dip her.
Be warned that she will hiss and spit
when you put her in the tub -
and be braced for a serious fit
when you shampoo and you scrub.
Make sure that thoroughly you rinse;
don't attempt to blow her dry -
or you'll risk further accidents -
neither of you wants to fry!
When this ritual's quite complete -
you and Fluffy both still living -
then offer her a little treat,
and pray she'll be forgiving!
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Thursday, 26 January 2012
FIFTY!
There was a time when a lady's age wasn't something she talked about. Those days are gone. In an era where age is a matter of public record, why be shy? Anyone who wants to know how old you are can find it out online anyhow. So, unabashed I will shout it out to the world - "I'M FIFTY!!"
I'm happy to be fifty. I'm old enough to have the really hard work of raising kids behind me, but young enough to enjoy my less demanding days. I'm healthy and grateful to be enjoying relative prosperity. I have no reason to dread being fifty.
I've been officially "in menopause" for well over a year. I know this is another of those taboo subjects, and that the thought of no longer being able to bear children is supposed to make me all weepy and maudlin, but why? I think it's wonderful to no longer buy a zillion "supplies" that you need to haul around with you everywhere you go "just in case". It is sheer bliss to not have to put up with feeling bloated and cranky and head achy for a week out of every month! As for childbearing, that boat pulled out of port years before I got anywhere near menopause. I had two children and three miscarriages - and after the third I decided the odds of having more children weren't on my side, and made a conscious decision to be happy with the two sons I had. So menopause ushered in an era where I no longer had to worry about whether there would be anymore "surprise" pregnancies that seemed more likely to end in disappointment than in a squirming bundle of joy.
I'm happy enough to just look forward to the day I'll have grandchildren.
Of course, it's not ALL fun. Skinny as a rail most of my life the pounds began to accumulate in my late thirties - about the same time my body began to be a lot less predictable. Since then I've gained thirty pounds that stubbornly refuse to leave my backside regardless of how much I exercise or how careful I am with my diet. I have decided to love myself as I am - which doesn't mean I'm giving up hope that somehow I'll still manage to drop those pounds. No, I'm just going to focus on the things I like about myself when I look in the mirror. It means I'm going to stop complaining about how I look and NOT put my husband on the spot by asking awkward questions like "Does this outfit make me look fat?"
I've been experiencing hot flashes for more than ten years now, so they're not a big deal anymore. I dress in layers, and sleep with my feet hanging out of the covers - which seems to help. When I feel the heatwave approaching I step outside for a minute (in winter) and stand in front of the open fridge if it's warm outside. I'm still not loving that part, but after all these years I've learned to cope.
I wear reading glasses now. For the time being the drugstore off the the rack variety is sufficient, but I know the day will come where I'll have to get a prescription for the real McCoy. I'm aging, and that's okay. In fact, it sure beats the alternative!
I leave you now with a few poems I've penned on these (Oh so "delicate") subjects. The tone is light, but the wisdom is relevant. Enjoy!
On Aging: By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (March '06)
I try not to sweat the subconscious -
but aging's not all in my mind.
It's there in my arthritic fingers,
it's there in my sagging behind.
Sometimes I'm still called a "hot mama" -
I carry myself with panache -
Though often it's not that I'm sexy -
just embroiled in another hot flash!
My mind's in a muddle too often,
I can be forgetful, I fear -
I feel young 'til I look in the mirror -
my vision's still ruthlessly clear.
I consciously try to stay upbeat
while gravity plays with my face -
Perhaps with that long promised wisdom
I'll learn to grow older with grace.
Men - Oh - Pause! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (April '07)
Men, oh pause before you speak
and ask her to cool down -
unless you are a circus freak,
or better yet, a clown -
she isn't apt to be amused
by references to heat
and ignorance won't be excused
unless you're very sweet.
Men, oh pause - for goodness sake -
before you speak of weight.
This topic would be a mistake -
oh think man - hesitate!
You mustn't draw attention
to any of her flaws,
those hormones we won't mention
can cause her to grow claws!
Men, oh pause and heed my voice,
consider what I say -
her mood swings do not come by choice;
she can't hold them at bay.
She is not thrilled by all this change,
so pause before you act.
Consider how you might arrange
to show a little tact.
I'm happy to be fifty. I'm old enough to have the really hard work of raising kids behind me, but young enough to enjoy my less demanding days. I'm healthy and grateful to be enjoying relative prosperity. I have no reason to dread being fifty.
I've been officially "in menopause" for well over a year. I know this is another of those taboo subjects, and that the thought of no longer being able to bear children is supposed to make me all weepy and maudlin, but why? I think it's wonderful to no longer buy a zillion "supplies" that you need to haul around with you everywhere you go "just in case". It is sheer bliss to not have to put up with feeling bloated and cranky and head achy for a week out of every month! As for childbearing, that boat pulled out of port years before I got anywhere near menopause. I had two children and three miscarriages - and after the third I decided the odds of having more children weren't on my side, and made a conscious decision to be happy with the two sons I had. So menopause ushered in an era where I no longer had to worry about whether there would be anymore "surprise" pregnancies that seemed more likely to end in disappointment than in a squirming bundle of joy.
I'm happy enough to just look forward to the day I'll have grandchildren.
Of course, it's not ALL fun. Skinny as a rail most of my life the pounds began to accumulate in my late thirties - about the same time my body began to be a lot less predictable. Since then I've gained thirty pounds that stubbornly refuse to leave my backside regardless of how much I exercise or how careful I am with my diet. I have decided to love myself as I am - which doesn't mean I'm giving up hope that somehow I'll still manage to drop those pounds. No, I'm just going to focus on the things I like about myself when I look in the mirror. It means I'm going to stop complaining about how I look and NOT put my husband on the spot by asking awkward questions like "Does this outfit make me look fat?"
I've been experiencing hot flashes for more than ten years now, so they're not a big deal anymore. I dress in layers, and sleep with my feet hanging out of the covers - which seems to help. When I feel the heatwave approaching I step outside for a minute (in winter) and stand in front of the open fridge if it's warm outside. I'm still not loving that part, but after all these years I've learned to cope.
I wear reading glasses now. For the time being the drugstore off the the rack variety is sufficient, but I know the day will come where I'll have to get a prescription for the real McCoy. I'm aging, and that's okay. In fact, it sure beats the alternative!
I leave you now with a few poems I've penned on these (Oh so "delicate") subjects. The tone is light, but the wisdom is relevant. Enjoy!
On Aging: By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (March '06)
I try not to sweat the subconscious -
but aging's not all in my mind.
It's there in my arthritic fingers,
it's there in my sagging behind.
Sometimes I'm still called a "hot mama" -
I carry myself with panache -
Though often it's not that I'm sexy -
just embroiled in another hot flash!
My mind's in a muddle too often,
I can be forgetful, I fear -
I feel young 'til I look in the mirror -
my vision's still ruthlessly clear.
I consciously try to stay upbeat
while gravity plays with my face -
Perhaps with that long promised wisdom
I'll learn to grow older with grace.
Men - Oh - Pause! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg (April '07)
Men, oh pause before you speak
and ask her to cool down -
unless you are a circus freak,
or better yet, a clown -
she isn't apt to be amused
by references to heat
and ignorance won't be excused
unless you're very sweet.
Men, oh pause - for goodness sake -
before you speak of weight.
This topic would be a mistake -
oh think man - hesitate!
You mustn't draw attention
to any of her flaws,
those hormones we won't mention
can cause her to grow claws!
Men, oh pause and heed my voice,
consider what I say -
her mood swings do not come by choice;
she can't hold them at bay.
She is not thrilled by all this change,
so pause before you act.
Consider how you might arrange
to show a little tact.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Following Stars - Fate or Faith? by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Good question. (If I do say so myself!)
Something a bit different for my last post of the year...I'll share a poem that doesn't rhyme, as well as one that does, all in the course of telling you about the year I decided to make my horoscope come true.
I started out 2011 feeling flat - not depressed, but stuck in my routines and frustrated with myself. The last day of 2010 I read my horoscope, which as usual promised great things. (Who would bother reading them if they didn't?) Anyhow, my horoscope foretold such great things for the year to come that I had to read what was in the cards for my boys (both Libras) and Todd (an Aries). Apparently great things were forecast for all of us, so I snipped out our horoscopes for the year and stuck them to the fridge.
I read that Aquarius forecast several times over the first few months. It talked at length about trying new things and freeing myself of old attitudes that weren't serving me well. It made sense to me to try to make those predictions come true, so rather than set a ton of resolutions I decided to use those predictions as the basis of making change. It may sound crazy, but it worked.
I consider myself a woman with faith, but sadly my faith in myself has been compromised most of my life. This past year I plugged my nose (as I've never been good at holding my breath) and I dove into a few projects that I never would have had sufficient faith to follow through with before. I gave myself the year I needed to have, primarily because I had enough faith in myself to follow the stars that were there to guide me.
I'm still no believer in horoscopes, unless they're used as I chose to use mine. We choose where fate leads us, based on our faith in ourselves, and our faith in a higher power. For many of us, a belief in God inspires us to act in positive ways, for others it is the power of love. For true "believers" the two should be inseparably connected.
This poem was one of the first I ever wrote. I was twenty years old, and thought I had all the answers.
Sharon's Star: (By Sharon A. Flood - May 1982)
My sister wrote a poem about herself.
She said she had a dream
and saw a star that beckoned.
(She woke and it was gone.)
I see stars in waking hours.
They try to chart my course -
I will not follow.
I don't look to the heavens to see
where I should go.
I look at the ground - my footprints
show me where I've been.
It isn't enough to know
what not to do, where not to return.
If I would lift my gaze -
look up and forward -
I would recognize my guiding star
and follow it to the Son.
Now, at the ripe old age of almost fifty, I can easily admit that I most definitely do not have all the answers. I'm getting good at identifying the problems (in my life and in the world as a whole), and I do believe that having faith in ourselves and in those "higher powers" that I previously mentioned can move us all forward as we gain the courage to follow the stars that are there to lead us all onward and upward.
The second poem I'm sharing might seem grim. Society does seem to be slipping, but each of us can do our part to lay down a little sand. We are here to live, to learn and to make every day better than the last in some small way. Who's up for the challenge? Happy New Year to all of my friends and family. I love you all and look forward to another year of learning from whatever life hands me.
And of course, I leave you at the close of the year with one last poetic thought...
Humanity (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg - April 2010)
The human condition
so broad and complex
has infinite power to baffle and vex.
There's no comprehending
the choices we make -
the creeds that we live by;
the vows we forsake.
The things that most want are
illusions at best -
and thanks for what's given
is seldom expressed.
We're searching for wealth and
perpetual youth -
and claim to seek wisdom,
but hide from the truth.
Our confidence wavers,
our manners are crude -
and most of us harbor
a bad attitude.
Compassion is lacking -
what's not understood
is too often labeled
as being no good.
We're all armed for battle
and itching to fight -
and egos convince us
our cause must be right.
Surrounded by plenty,
desires still taunt -
not too many of us
are sure what we want.
The answers may reach us,
if question we dare -
most grow apathetic -
too jaded to care.
Faith offers us answers
we choose to resist...
God wants all to live
but we mostly exist.
Something a bit different for my last post of the year...I'll share a poem that doesn't rhyme, as well as one that does, all in the course of telling you about the year I decided to make my horoscope come true.
I started out 2011 feeling flat - not depressed, but stuck in my routines and frustrated with myself. The last day of 2010 I read my horoscope, which as usual promised great things. (Who would bother reading them if they didn't?) Anyhow, my horoscope foretold such great things for the year to come that I had to read what was in the cards for my boys (both Libras) and Todd (an Aries). Apparently great things were forecast for all of us, so I snipped out our horoscopes for the year and stuck them to the fridge.
I read that Aquarius forecast several times over the first few months. It talked at length about trying new things and freeing myself of old attitudes that weren't serving me well. It made sense to me to try to make those predictions come true, so rather than set a ton of resolutions I decided to use those predictions as the basis of making change. It may sound crazy, but it worked.
I consider myself a woman with faith, but sadly my faith in myself has been compromised most of my life. This past year I plugged my nose (as I've never been good at holding my breath) and I dove into a few projects that I never would have had sufficient faith to follow through with before. I gave myself the year I needed to have, primarily because I had enough faith in myself to follow the stars that were there to guide me.
I'm still no believer in horoscopes, unless they're used as I chose to use mine. We choose where fate leads us, based on our faith in ourselves, and our faith in a higher power. For many of us, a belief in God inspires us to act in positive ways, for others it is the power of love. For true "believers" the two should be inseparably connected.
This poem was one of the first I ever wrote. I was twenty years old, and thought I had all the answers.
Sharon's Star: (By Sharon A. Flood - May 1982)
My sister wrote a poem about herself.
She said she had a dream
and saw a star that beckoned.
(She woke and it was gone.)
I see stars in waking hours.
They try to chart my course -
I will not follow.
I don't look to the heavens to see
where I should go.
I look at the ground - my footprints
show me where I've been.
It isn't enough to know
what not to do, where not to return.
If I would lift my gaze -
look up and forward -
I would recognize my guiding star
and follow it to the Son.
Now, at the ripe old age of almost fifty, I can easily admit that I most definitely do not have all the answers. I'm getting good at identifying the problems (in my life and in the world as a whole), and I do believe that having faith in ourselves and in those "higher powers" that I previously mentioned can move us all forward as we gain the courage to follow the stars that are there to lead us all onward and upward.
The second poem I'm sharing might seem grim. Society does seem to be slipping, but each of us can do our part to lay down a little sand. We are here to live, to learn and to make every day better than the last in some small way. Who's up for the challenge? Happy New Year to all of my friends and family. I love you all and look forward to another year of learning from whatever life hands me.
And of course, I leave you at the close of the year with one last poetic thought...
Humanity (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg - April 2010)
The human condition
so broad and complex
has infinite power to baffle and vex.
There's no comprehending
the choices we make -
the creeds that we live by;
the vows we forsake.
The things that most want are
illusions at best -
and thanks for what's given
is seldom expressed.
We're searching for wealth and
perpetual youth -
and claim to seek wisdom,
but hide from the truth.
Our confidence wavers,
our manners are crude -
and most of us harbor
a bad attitude.
Compassion is lacking -
what's not understood
is too often labeled
as being no good.
We're all armed for battle
and itching to fight -
and egos convince us
our cause must be right.
Surrounded by plenty,
desires still taunt -
not too many of us
are sure what we want.
The answers may reach us,
if question we dare -
most grow apathetic -
too jaded to care.
Faith offers us answers
we choose to resist...
God wants all to live
but we mostly exist.
Monday, 5 December 2011
Christmas Light
I love Christmas!
Every year by the end of November I've begun my holiday preparations - writing the annual family Christmas letter to relatives and friends, going on the prowl for gift ideas and baking up a storm. I decorate my house with multiple Christmas trees and cover my windows in (mostly) hand-made snowflakes. Sam hangs our outdoor lights and helps me make his favorite candy cane cookies. Most years Dan and Todd limit their involvement to sniffing the air appreciatively and waiting for their next taste test - we always sample a bit of everything. The rest we share with friends and save for holiday noshing.
Christmas is a season of joy. People are more energetic and more filled with good will than usual. The happiness and excitement surrounding the season can be infectious. It's a season that makes us want to sing. I love Christmas carols, but have to confess that I find "holiday music" (Frosty and Rudolph - and especially that that "drummer boy" - ugh) a bit irritating. They grate on my nerves in short order, probably because I think they're out of context. None of them really have a thing to do with what I'm celebrating.
I am unabashed about expressing my opinion that Christmas is a religious holiday. Others can celebrate it as they wish, but I'm celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. I'm celebrating the concept of "Peace on earth and goodwill towards men." I say "Merry Christmas" without apology, and to my knowledge it has never offended anyone. Why should it? I'm just telling them to enjoy Christmas day happily - however they want to spend it.
Christmas is a time of reflection. As I contemplate a birth that changed the course of history I evaluate what I've accomplished throughout a year that is coming to an end. What have I left unfinished? What can I do to improve my life and my world in the year to come? In a season of lights I am looking for personal enlightenment, and striving to share whatever light and hope I have within me with those around me.
I've written a lot of poems about Christmas, but this is my favorite. Love, light and hope to all, and Merry Christmas!
Christmas Light - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (December 2007)
As days grow shorter, dull and dark
we pause to celebrate -
remembering the sacred birth
that changed our human fate.
Promised Messiah, born to save,
redeeming all from sin -
He takes our dim and troubled souls
and lights them from within.
A star shone o'er the earth that night -
it was the promised sign -
symbolic of the guiding truth
that did His life define.
It led the shepherds to the place
where He in manger lay -
and Magi from the eastern lands
were led by glorious ray.
The world too much in darkness dwells,
with eyes so often blind
to all the beauty that exists
and goodness in mankind.
The Savior came to bring us hope,
His teachings light the way -
and all enjoy a brighter path
who seek Him every day.
If we are willing to be led
like shepherds on a hill -
with earnestness of heart and mind,
we too can find Him still.
Then darkest seasons of our lives
are lit by stars above -
and we in turn will radiate
the wonders of His love.
Every year by the end of November I've begun my holiday preparations - writing the annual family Christmas letter to relatives and friends, going on the prowl for gift ideas and baking up a storm. I decorate my house with multiple Christmas trees and cover my windows in (mostly) hand-made snowflakes. Sam hangs our outdoor lights and helps me make his favorite candy cane cookies. Most years Dan and Todd limit their involvement to sniffing the air appreciatively and waiting for their next taste test - we always sample a bit of everything. The rest we share with friends and save for holiday noshing.
Christmas is a season of joy. People are more energetic and more filled with good will than usual. The happiness and excitement surrounding the season can be infectious. It's a season that makes us want to sing. I love Christmas carols, but have to confess that I find "holiday music" (Frosty and Rudolph - and especially that that "drummer boy" - ugh) a bit irritating. They grate on my nerves in short order, probably because I think they're out of context. None of them really have a thing to do with what I'm celebrating.
I am unabashed about expressing my opinion that Christmas is a religious holiday. Others can celebrate it as they wish, but I'm celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. I'm celebrating the concept of "Peace on earth and goodwill towards men." I say "Merry Christmas" without apology, and to my knowledge it has never offended anyone. Why should it? I'm just telling them to enjoy Christmas day happily - however they want to spend it.
Christmas is a time of reflection. As I contemplate a birth that changed the course of history I evaluate what I've accomplished throughout a year that is coming to an end. What have I left unfinished? What can I do to improve my life and my world in the year to come? In a season of lights I am looking for personal enlightenment, and striving to share whatever light and hope I have within me with those around me.
I've written a lot of poems about Christmas, but this is my favorite. Love, light and hope to all, and Merry Christmas!
Christmas Light - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (December 2007)
As days grow shorter, dull and dark
we pause to celebrate -
remembering the sacred birth
that changed our human fate.
Promised Messiah, born to save,
redeeming all from sin -
He takes our dim and troubled souls
and lights them from within.
A star shone o'er the earth that night -
it was the promised sign -
symbolic of the guiding truth
that did His life define.
It led the shepherds to the place
where He in manger lay -
and Magi from the eastern lands
were led by glorious ray.
The world too much in darkness dwells,
with eyes so often blind
to all the beauty that exists
and goodness in mankind.
The Savior came to bring us hope,
His teachings light the way -
and all enjoy a brighter path
who seek Him every day.
If we are willing to be led
like shepherds on a hill -
with earnestness of heart and mind,
we too can find Him still.
Then darkest seasons of our lives
are lit by stars above -
and we in turn will radiate
the wonders of His love.
Friday, 18 November 2011
The Mouse and the Spouse - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (November 17, 2011)
I am beginning this blog post with an ALMOST disclaimer.
This is a poem that could almost be about my husband and I. Todd loves his electronic gadgetry, and plays with his phone a lot. He's self-employed, and sometimes doesn't know quite when to end his business day - or for that matter when to not start another business day.
As far as Todd is concerned, that's where the similarities end. He seldom texts, and never wears his Bluetooth in the house. (It stays in the car, where it belongs.) Todd does not own a Blackberry. He almost always remembers to comb his hair when he gets out of the shower, and nothing comes between him and his breakfast - especially on Saturdays. ("Family breakfast" on Saturdays is a tradition. I make pancakes or waffles or muffins or something equally yummy.)
As far as "the spouse" is concerned....hmmmm - she could be me IF Todd were silly enough to choose the mouse over the spouse on any given Saturday!
So here goes - my latest offering - penned only yesterday. (Inspired by Dr. Seuss - one of my all time favorites.)
The Mouse and the Spouse - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
It rained, or the sun shone, he never knew which.
As soon as he woke up his fingers would twitch.
Eight hours without texting had taken their toll -
his Blackberry held him within its control.
He rushed to get showered and dressed in great haste -
his emails awaited, he'd no time to waste!
To sit and eat breakfast - a hardship - a chore!
The pull of his keyboard was hard to ignore.
So there he sat typing (Bluetooth in his ear)
when a clout on the head told him someone was near.
He looked, and he saw her, the wife of his youth -
her face wore expression of hearty reproof.
She said to him, "WHY do you spend all your days
all hooked up to gadgets in multiple ways?
It seems all you do is just sit, sit, sit, sit -
and I do NOT like it - not one little bit!
Your waistline's expanding, your skin's looking gray,
I know you may tune out each word that I say -
but gosh - you'd be fitter if you would relax -
your workload's too heavy, you're stressed to the max!
Your neck muscles bunch because you sit there bent -
you're tired, and cranky, and quite discontent.
To cellphone and ipad it seems you're a slave.
Your Blackberry lures you to earlier grave.
Your fingers - arthritic - although you're not old -
I swear by these gizmos your life is controlled!
So switch off your cellphone and Bluetooth remove -
the sun - it is shining! Get into the groove!"
He looked at his spouse and he knew she was right -
his stomach - it rumbled! His hair looked a fright!
The sun - it was shining. The sky - it was blue.
He looked at his wife and he knew what to do.
Her eyes - they were blazing! Her nostrils - they flared!
She frightened him sorely, but he knew she cared.
His blogging and tweeting would just have to wait.
He'd look to his health and he wouldn't tempt fate.
He stroked his mouse gently, and then powered down.
His wife's mouth was no longer wearing a frown.
He pulled out his earpiece with nary a tear -
his day's new agenda was perfectly clear.
A whole world awaited outside his front door!
A world full of promise was his to explore!
His emails and web casts could wait a few days
while he reconnected in multiple ways.
He'd spend time relaxing and taking his ease -
he'd bask in the sunshine and do as he pleased.
From shackles of phone and of laptop, be free!
He'd walk in the woods and he might hug a tree!
His tension dissolved as he thought these good thoughts -
his muscles, they loosened - released all their knots.
His wife stood there beaming and reached for his hand -
her plot to reform him, progressing as planned.
She knew he'd relapse when the weekend was done,
but for now he was hers; they were off to have fun.
This is a poem that could almost be about my husband and I. Todd loves his electronic gadgetry, and plays with his phone a lot. He's self-employed, and sometimes doesn't know quite when to end his business day - or for that matter when to not start another business day.
As far as Todd is concerned, that's where the similarities end. He seldom texts, and never wears his Bluetooth in the house. (It stays in the car, where it belongs.) Todd does not own a Blackberry. He almost always remembers to comb his hair when he gets out of the shower, and nothing comes between him and his breakfast - especially on Saturdays. ("Family breakfast" on Saturdays is a tradition. I make pancakes or waffles or muffins or something equally yummy.)
As far as "the spouse" is concerned....hmmmm - she could be me IF Todd were silly enough to choose the mouse over the spouse on any given Saturday!
So here goes - my latest offering - penned only yesterday. (Inspired by Dr. Seuss - one of my all time favorites.)
The Mouse and the Spouse - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
It rained, or the sun shone, he never knew which.
As soon as he woke up his fingers would twitch.
Eight hours without texting had taken their toll -
his Blackberry held him within its control.
He rushed to get showered and dressed in great haste -
his emails awaited, he'd no time to waste!
To sit and eat breakfast - a hardship - a chore!
The pull of his keyboard was hard to ignore.
So there he sat typing (Bluetooth in his ear)
when a clout on the head told him someone was near.
He looked, and he saw her, the wife of his youth -
her face wore expression of hearty reproof.
She said to him, "WHY do you spend all your days
all hooked up to gadgets in multiple ways?
It seems all you do is just sit, sit, sit, sit -
and I do NOT like it - not one little bit!
Your waistline's expanding, your skin's looking gray,
I know you may tune out each word that I say -
but gosh - you'd be fitter if you would relax -
your workload's too heavy, you're stressed to the max!
Your neck muscles bunch because you sit there bent -
you're tired, and cranky, and quite discontent.
To cellphone and ipad it seems you're a slave.
Your Blackberry lures you to earlier grave.
Your fingers - arthritic - although you're not old -
I swear by these gizmos your life is controlled!
So switch off your cellphone and Bluetooth remove -
the sun - it is shining! Get into the groove!"
He looked at his spouse and he knew she was right -
his stomach - it rumbled! His hair looked a fright!
The sun - it was shining. The sky - it was blue.
He looked at his wife and he knew what to do.
Her eyes - they were blazing! Her nostrils - they flared!
She frightened him sorely, but he knew she cared.
His blogging and tweeting would just have to wait.
He'd look to his health and he wouldn't tempt fate.
He stroked his mouse gently, and then powered down.
His wife's mouth was no longer wearing a frown.
He pulled out his earpiece with nary a tear -
his day's new agenda was perfectly clear.
A whole world awaited outside his front door!
A world full of promise was his to explore!
His emails and web casts could wait a few days
while he reconnected in multiple ways.
He'd spend time relaxing and taking his ease -
he'd bask in the sunshine and do as he pleased.
From shackles of phone and of laptop, be free!
He'd walk in the woods and he might hug a tree!
His tension dissolved as he thought these good thoughts -
his muscles, they loosened - released all their knots.
His wife stood there beaming and reached for his hand -
her plot to reform him, progressing as planned.
She knew he'd relapse when the weekend was done,
but for now he was hers; they were off to have fun.
Friday, 21 October 2011
In Progress - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
I spend a lot of my time feeling frustrated with myself.
If misery really "loves company" I guess I can take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of other people in this world who are as impatient with themselves as I am. After all, in an age where everything happens quickly, it's understandable that so many of us crave instant gratification on the self-improvement front. We want to be bigger, stronger, faster, smarter and more attractive - and doggone it - we want it all NOW!
The media inundates us with commercials featuring beautiful people, and stories of meteoric success. Many become discouraged by the small increments of progress that they may (or sadly, may not) notice in themselves.
"Why do I keep trying?" many of us ask ourselves. "Wouldn't it be easier to stop all this striving for improvement and settle for mediocrity?"
As one who has "settled" for being average most of my life I can tell you that nothing is more soul destroying than not challenging yourself from time to time. There's no need to go into flat-out "beauty pageant mode" and try to be the winner, but it's important to keep plugging away at those self-improvement projects, even if at times you feel as exposed as a reluctant beauty queen teetering around in high heels, sash and bikini.
You may be struggling to keep going to the gym when your cellulite is telling you that you're wishing on the moon, but hang in there! You didn't put on the extra weight over-night, and it won't miraculously melt off by tomorrow morning either. You may be trying to get ahead in your career and feeling pushed aside or ignored at every turn, but you can't afford to give up. Persistence always pays off, one way or another.
Creative endeavors can be the most challenging to pursue. Some will be quick to tell you that you can succeed, but just as many (probably a whole lot more!) will sneer at your artistic aspirations or give you pitying glances behind your back. Write, draw, paint, act anyway. Do what speaks to your soul.
In the past I've made the claim that my children are my ultimate creation. I gave them life, but they create themselves, and re-create themselves on a constant basis. Therefore it follows that I am my own ultimate creation. Here a bit, there a bit I improve on my self portrait or my autobiography. Some day I may have a masterpiece to show for my efforts...
For now I'm a work in progress.
In Progress - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (August '08)
I am a work in progress,
unmolded, unbaked clay -
meant to be bent and twisted
until it's fired one day.
Like plasticine or putty
I'll set but not cement -
I'm not ready to harden
to any great extent.
Creation is a process -
a moth in a cocoon
won't survive to fly away
if wings are freed too soon.
Paint daubs upon a canvass
are patiently applied -
built up 'til art emerges
before the paint has dried.
If like unfinished portrait
I seem too smeared and blurred -
or like unfinished sentence
I seem to lack a word -
my wings are not yet ready,
my story not complete;
my portrait isn't painted -
It's not cause for defeat.
I'm still a work in progress -
roughly sketched - unfinished,
but 'though I am imperfect
my worth is not diminished.
If misery really "loves company" I guess I can take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of other people in this world who are as impatient with themselves as I am. After all, in an age where everything happens quickly, it's understandable that so many of us crave instant gratification on the self-improvement front. We want to be bigger, stronger, faster, smarter and more attractive - and doggone it - we want it all NOW!
The media inundates us with commercials featuring beautiful people, and stories of meteoric success. Many become discouraged by the small increments of progress that they may (or sadly, may not) notice in themselves.
"Why do I keep trying?" many of us ask ourselves. "Wouldn't it be easier to stop all this striving for improvement and settle for mediocrity?"
As one who has "settled" for being average most of my life I can tell you that nothing is more soul destroying than not challenging yourself from time to time. There's no need to go into flat-out "beauty pageant mode" and try to be the winner, but it's important to keep plugging away at those self-improvement projects, even if at times you feel as exposed as a reluctant beauty queen teetering around in high heels, sash and bikini.
You may be struggling to keep going to the gym when your cellulite is telling you that you're wishing on the moon, but hang in there! You didn't put on the extra weight over-night, and it won't miraculously melt off by tomorrow morning either. You may be trying to get ahead in your career and feeling pushed aside or ignored at every turn, but you can't afford to give up. Persistence always pays off, one way or another.
Creative endeavors can be the most challenging to pursue. Some will be quick to tell you that you can succeed, but just as many (probably a whole lot more!) will sneer at your artistic aspirations or give you pitying glances behind your back. Write, draw, paint, act anyway. Do what speaks to your soul.
In the past I've made the claim that my children are my ultimate creation. I gave them life, but they create themselves, and re-create themselves on a constant basis. Therefore it follows that I am my own ultimate creation. Here a bit, there a bit I improve on my self portrait or my autobiography. Some day I may have a masterpiece to show for my efforts...
For now I'm a work in progress.
In Progress - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (August '08)
I am a work in progress,
unmolded, unbaked clay -
meant to be bent and twisted
until it's fired one day.
Like plasticine or putty
I'll set but not cement -
I'm not ready to harden
to any great extent.
Creation is a process -
a moth in a cocoon
won't survive to fly away
if wings are freed too soon.
Paint daubs upon a canvass
are patiently applied -
built up 'til art emerges
before the paint has dried.
If like unfinished portrait
I seem too smeared and blurred -
or like unfinished sentence
I seem to lack a word -
my wings are not yet ready,
my story not complete;
my portrait isn't painted -
It's not cause for defeat.
I'm still a work in progress -
roughly sketched - unfinished,
but 'though I am imperfect
my worth is not diminished.
Monday, 19 September 2011
Center Stage - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about what's important to me. There have been a lot of changes in my life these past several months, and each change reminds me of how many more changes will inevitably come as my sons leave home to pursue their own lives and their own dreams. Oddly, contemplating the changes in my life has made me more aware of the things that remain constant.
Every now and then someone manages to cut me to the quick with a thoughtless comment. Last week, I felt that someone was accusing me of being materialistic. (In reality, it was probably just a case of someone having a bad day and over-reacting to something I said first.) Nevertheless, it made me think.
I was raised by a steel-worker and a telephone operator. We lived comfortably because my father insisted on frugality. I was nicely dressed as a youth because my mother was a gifted seamstress. I learned that money has its place - it is a necessity in everyone's life. It provides comfort and security, but it truly cannot buy happiness. I lived one step above abject poverty when I left home. At a few different points my parents, worried about my dire financial straits, tried to convince me to move home. I staunchly refused. The satisfaction I felt at being able to survive "on my own" (no matter how uncomfortably) mattered more to me than the financial security that my parents could have provided for me. I wanted to stand on my own. Independence brought me satisfaction.
During my first decade of married life the "lean years" continued. Todd endured three periods of unemployment and a series of low-paying jobs. Our finances were sometimes shaky, but our happiness as a couple, and a family, remained constant.
When we lived in Quebec, my husband was viewed as an "up and comer" by his employers. As news spread that he was planning to move back to Ontario (a move our family desperately needed) several co-workers advised him to send his family to Ontario, and remain behind. That advice, we both felt, wasn't even worthy of consideration. Instead, Todd accepted a demotion so that we could move to a place where we could be happier as a family. There are some losses that money just can't compensate for.
We consider ourselves fortunate to be enjoying financial security in an era where the economy is unsteady and many around us are experiencing hardship. We have a healthy appreciation for all that we have, and a healthy fear that it will all disappear. The reality is that the "success" (and I use the term loosely) that we presently enjoy could "turn on a dime." We're trying to plan wisely for an uncertain future. But if we are poor again tomorrow, we will still have love in our family, we will still strive to improve ourselves, and we will continue to have faith in each other.
I related what I'd perceived as a slight on my priorities to my younger son, who is away from home. I asked him what he felt he'd learned from us. (I wanted to be reassured that I hadn't inadvertently preached the "Gospel of Materialism" to him.) This was his response:
"Money doesn't make me happy, and accolades don't thrill me. What satisfies me is knowing that I've done my best and I've become a better person for it. I think that's what our family is all about. I'm quite confident that you and Dad feel the same way."
My older son said recently. "I don't aspire to ever live in a house any bigger or nicer than this one." It warmed my heart to hear him say that.
Amen to both of them. A "good life" isn't a life of decadence or fame. Success is measured in satisfaction, in the knowledge that you're doing your best and making some sort of progress on a daily basis. I'm glad that my sons somehow heard and understood the messages my husband and I tried to convey.
This month's poetry selection is one that I feel illustrates my philosophies on money, success, and life.
Center Stage - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (September'07)
A man's worth more than the amount
of dollars in his bank account.
His worth lies not in what is seen,
but what he's done and who he's been.
How did he act, what did he say;
what graciousness did he display?
When he stood out at center stage,
how did he with the cast engage?
Did he shine in his starring role
or use position to control?
In lesser roles, how did he act?
(For this determines worth, in fact.)
All men can shine when light are hot,
but worth's determined when they're not
and how a man acts in the wings
illuminates a lot of things.
By how he acts there we can know
what is for real, and what's for show.
Most men can prosper and seem bright
when they are upstage in spotlight,
but stars are born when lights are out
and there's no audience about.
All do perform for better cause
by acting well, without applause.
Every now and then someone manages to cut me to the quick with a thoughtless comment. Last week, I felt that someone was accusing me of being materialistic. (In reality, it was probably just a case of someone having a bad day and over-reacting to something I said first.) Nevertheless, it made me think.
I was raised by a steel-worker and a telephone operator. We lived comfortably because my father insisted on frugality. I was nicely dressed as a youth because my mother was a gifted seamstress. I learned that money has its place - it is a necessity in everyone's life. It provides comfort and security, but it truly cannot buy happiness. I lived one step above abject poverty when I left home. At a few different points my parents, worried about my dire financial straits, tried to convince me to move home. I staunchly refused. The satisfaction I felt at being able to survive "on my own" (no matter how uncomfortably) mattered more to me than the financial security that my parents could have provided for me. I wanted to stand on my own. Independence brought me satisfaction.
During my first decade of married life the "lean years" continued. Todd endured three periods of unemployment and a series of low-paying jobs. Our finances were sometimes shaky, but our happiness as a couple, and a family, remained constant.
When we lived in Quebec, my husband was viewed as an "up and comer" by his employers. As news spread that he was planning to move back to Ontario (a move our family desperately needed) several co-workers advised him to send his family to Ontario, and remain behind. That advice, we both felt, wasn't even worthy of consideration. Instead, Todd accepted a demotion so that we could move to a place where we could be happier as a family. There are some losses that money just can't compensate for.
We consider ourselves fortunate to be enjoying financial security in an era where the economy is unsteady and many around us are experiencing hardship. We have a healthy appreciation for all that we have, and a healthy fear that it will all disappear. The reality is that the "success" (and I use the term loosely) that we presently enjoy could "turn on a dime." We're trying to plan wisely for an uncertain future. But if we are poor again tomorrow, we will still have love in our family, we will still strive to improve ourselves, and we will continue to have faith in each other.
I related what I'd perceived as a slight on my priorities to my younger son, who is away from home. I asked him what he felt he'd learned from us. (I wanted to be reassured that I hadn't inadvertently preached the "Gospel of Materialism" to him.) This was his response:
"Money doesn't make me happy, and accolades don't thrill me. What satisfies me is knowing that I've done my best and I've become a better person for it. I think that's what our family is all about. I'm quite confident that you and Dad feel the same way."
My older son said recently. "I don't aspire to ever live in a house any bigger or nicer than this one." It warmed my heart to hear him say that.
Amen to both of them. A "good life" isn't a life of decadence or fame. Success is measured in satisfaction, in the knowledge that you're doing your best and making some sort of progress on a daily basis. I'm glad that my sons somehow heard and understood the messages my husband and I tried to convey.
This month's poetry selection is one that I feel illustrates my philosophies on money, success, and life.
Center Stage - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (September'07)
A man's worth more than the amount
of dollars in his bank account.
His worth lies not in what is seen,
but what he's done and who he's been.
How did he act, what did he say;
what graciousness did he display?
When he stood out at center stage,
how did he with the cast engage?
Did he shine in his starring role
or use position to control?
In lesser roles, how did he act?
(For this determines worth, in fact.)
All men can shine when light are hot,
but worth's determined when they're not
and how a man acts in the wings
illuminates a lot of things.
By how he acts there we can know
what is for real, and what's for show.
Most men can prosper and seem bright
when they are upstage in spotlight,
but stars are born when lights are out
and there's no audience about.
All do perform for better cause
by acting well, without applause.
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