Author: Wendy W. Blumberg

To Live in Blessed Peace

Wendy W. Blumberg

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Little Child

Held tight in your father’s arms

I want to cry

For you

You do not cry

So I will not

Either

Tho your face expresses how

Frightened you are

Your eyes of deep brown

Look sad to my eyes

That see you in a line

Of refugees

Hurrying to where

I don’t know

Germany     perhaps England

Maybe France

You flee your homeland

Syria

And little child

Little boy

As you are held

In your father’s arms

So I hold you

In my heart

Hold you with a vision

Of a new life for you

A life free from fear

A place for you to

Play

As children are meant to play

Grow

As children are meant to grow

A place that in my

Vision

Is every place on earth

Where all children

Of God     of All That Is

No matter who they are

No matter where they come

From

Live in Blessed Peace

*photo credit, UNICEF

Daughter Mine

Wendy W. Blumberg

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Daughter mine

I would walk with you

Again

Hand in hand

Down a Carlsbad Village street

On our way for coffee

And buttermilk biscuits

Stopping to window shop

If there was time

I would walk with you

Again

Daughter mine

 

I would walk with you

Again

My daughter

Along the San Clemente shore

At low tide

Our foot prints following us

In wet sand

The smell of salty sea

Air

Filling our lungs

No words needed

There is beach music

To hear

The sound of the gulls’

High pitched cries

The ocean’s own voice

Its waves rolling in

Rolling out

Rhythms of its

Beating heart

I would walk with you

There

Daughter mine

Again

 

It has come with the years

As you know

Daughter mine

I no longer walk

Down a village street

No longer walk on wet sand

At low tide

For me

There is no pain

In the remembering

The scenes are images imprinted

In my soul

 

Come     daughter mine

Let us gather time

To sit together

Let us drink myriad

Cups of tea

There is so much

We have to share

You and I

The past is gone     gone

My daughter

This is now

Now is our today

 

I love you

 

Words

Wendy W. Blumberg

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When we have had a

Fight

 

It doesn’t happen often

You know

 

I feel I am in a

Foreign country

Landing on unfamiliar

Soil

From some far away

Galaxy

Not knowing who I am

Where I belong

 

Feeling unlike myself

Inside the depths

Of mind   of body

My heat remaining

Silent

 

It is not the words

My dear Love

I do not remember

Words

Do not listen to

Words

My distress rides

On the tone of voice

Used

To speak the words

My Achilles heel

Returning me to

Voices

I remember hearing

In childhood

That put me on the defensive

So     around     around     around

We go     you and I

Then     it ends

 

It takes a small time

For me

To come back into my familiar

Self

Like stillness

After a storm passes

Before a bird begins to sing

Again

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Love is the Answer

Wendy W. Blumberg
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” The Light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness apprehended it not.”  —The Bible–ASV:  John 1:5
I made an intent
To myself
It came from Spirit
From my soul
I do not watch
The news
Do not hear
Do not see
Violence
Rained upon
Innocents
Blood spilled from
Those
Who have done no harm
To anyone
But an email
Creeps onto my screen
I read it before
Realizing its contents
My bewilderment turns to
Sadness
Bleeds through my
Veins
Into the core of my
Heart

 

From where I am
Today
I no longer ask
Why     Why
Does it keep happening
I no longer
Wonder
How a human being
Can inflict harm
Take life
From a fellow being
Even a child

 

I have no answers
Never did
I have no power
To stop these acts
But in faith
I ask
Can you love
Enough
Deep enough     strongly
Enough
To send your love
To everyone     everywhere
In our world
No matter who they
Are
Can we try
Can you     can I

 

“Love is the answer
To every question” *
Love     Love     Loving
For me
Our Path to Peace
*"A course in Miracles"
photo credit

Listening In & Missing You

Wendy W. Blumberg
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Listening In

Here

Where I am now

There is soft chirping

From small birds

Unseen

Out my open window

I listen to them

Hear their conversations

Like the ebb and flow

Of human voices

Around a dinner table

It feels somewhat like

I am eavesdropping

On their privacy

But I do not understand

Their language

Have no idea

What is being discussed

So what can it matter

Anyway                              –2013

 

Missing You

It is in another time

Another place

I hear mocking birds

Sing

As they claim their territories

In the mating months

Of February and March

Our Southern California spring

 

Each bird owns their own

Repertoire

Of rhythm     trills     melodies

Culled from the sounds

Of other birds

Their songs resonating like bells

From hillsides around my house

 

Oh

I remember wonderment

Remember my joy

To hear a mocking bird

Singing

In the silence of midnight

Moon music     I call it

A lullaby into sleep                         –2013-2014

 

*photo image found on Pinterest

Rain

Wendy W. Blumberg
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Rain

I hear tires     swishing

On wet pavement

As rain falls on the street

Below my window

Their gentle sounds soothe me

Into sleep

 

A foghorn calls warnings

From its station on the water

Off a Lake Michigan shoreline

An urgent voice

Repeating     repeating     repeating

Through heavy rains

Through dense fog

This foghorn of my childhood

Whose language

I learned to love early on

Will never forget

 

Rain is on its way

Over a meadow of rocks

Of tall wavy grasses

Across from my cabin

At summer camp

It advances towards me

Like an army

Slow steady relentless

Then pours itself

Onto the cabin roof

A hundred kettle drums

Pound over my head

Reverberating through every bone

In my body

Oh     I long for Mother

I want to go home

 

Drought

Many rains since

Have come     have left their imprints

On my mind

Their sounds     the smell of wet earth

A day with no sun

Only clouds hanging low

Different shades of gray

That change as rain stops

Begins again

Sheets of rain sweeping down a street

Across an empty field

As wind pushes them along

I visualize rain

Dropping on the surface of a pond

A lake     the ocean itself

Hear rain pound against my windows

Pray rain     think rain

Give thanks for rain

Silently call to my friend

The sycamore tree

Call to every living thing

That sustains itself

From the earth

Hang on     Hang on

The rains will come

They will     come

Hang on

Hang on

 

*photo image: gemini

Thanksgiving Dinner in the 60s

Wendy W. Blumberg
T-DayMemory

above: Ronny enjoying his delicious & fancy meal; below: Wendy’s family, a delightful bunch

We were still living in Waukegan, Illinois, Steve and I and our four young children. This particular Thanksgiving, we packed ourselves up and drove to Chicago, where we would enjoy the meal at our beloved “Nanny Wolbach’s” house. (This is the what my children called their great-grandmother.)

I was the proud preparer of Thanksgiving dinner this year, having taken over from Grandmother and two aunts. Mama and Grandma were with me in the kitchen as I was transferring Mrs. Turkey (we always bought hens) onto the platter, ready to march into the dining room to present her to my step-father who was an expert carver, much to the relief of husband Steve. Already waiting on the sideboard were creamed spinach, a sweet potato casserole with marshmallows on top, green beans almandine, a tossed salad, Parker House rolls, and cranberry sauce (as I have to admit, my favorite Ocean Spray jellied cranberry sauce).

Our four children were seated at the table that was decorated with small unlit candles of pilgrims and turkeys. I began the procession of Mrs. Turkey on her platter, with Mother and Grandma walking behind me. Before I reached the closed, swinging kitchen door, Mrs. Turkey slid off her platter, smack onto the kitchen floor.

Mama, Grandma and I gasped. But quickly, as if by some hidden signal, they both said, “Pick it up, Dear, put it back on the platter, no one will know.”

So I did.

By some miracle, Mrs. Turkey remained mostly without injury from her fall onto the floor. I walked through the open swinging kitchen door into the dining room and set the platter down in front of my step-father, who (being a dear man, but almost obsessive over germs and cleanliness) would never know where Mrs. Turkey had been before coming to him.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all! With love and gratitude … Wendy

“You are wonderful!”

Wendy W. Blumberg

Fortune Teller MomCropped

This is me, everyone, somewhere in the 1970’s. I have on an outfit that came from India. How or where I obtained it, I have no idea. But it felt just perfect for dressing up as a fortuneteller for a birthday party we were giving for one of our children!

Which one of the four I don’t remember, but am guessing it wasn’t our oldest, Danny. He was a sophisticated seventh or eighth grader. Maybe even a high school freshman. No, it would not have been Danny. Maybe Dina? She was only in third or fourth grade in the early 1970’s, and her girlfriends would have loved having their fortunes told, even by me, pretending to be a mysterious fortuneteller.

But now that I am truly remembering this event, I think it was Andy. His birthday is in October, close to Halloween. Wouldn’t it make sense to have the birthday boy’s mom dress up and pretend to tell the guests their fortunes? Never mind the fortunes would be made up.

I do vividly remember creating great fortunes for each child, boys or girls, maybe both if Andy’s friends or Dina’s friends were included in each others’ birthday celebrations. And here was Ronny, a fifth, sixth, or seventh grader. He loved dress ups. Perhaps it was his birthday in the middle of December. No, it HAD to be Andy’s in October.

Anyway, the fortunetelling place was set up in Steve’s and my bedroom, or was it? I had on a lovely shawl on my head made of the same material the pants and top were made of. Then there was something I am unable to identify on top of the shawl to hold it in place.

So there I was all dressed up ready for business! Well, I knew every child that walked into the bedroom, or rather, the fortuneteller’s room, where I was seated on the floor on a cushion. I knew their family situations. Knew if they were happy or troubled at the time of the party. I knew their personalities. I knew each of them. And so I created the most WONDERFUL fortunes:

“You will have a wonderful life filled with adventure and grand success.”

“You will achieve everything in your life you will want to achieve, and everything you work for will be a great success”

“You will have a most wonderful life. The world is waiting for you and you will have success in everything you set out to do.”

“Do not be fearful; know your future is going to be filled with happiness and success.”

And on and on. I had no idea if any of this would come to pass, but the huge smiles on their faces let me know they’d been happy with their fortunes. And certainly, I believed, giving them happy fortunes to put into their minds, might truly help them as they traveled into their futures.

One other thing: I told every child who came to hear my made up fortunes, You are  wonderful! And they were, so absolutely wonderful.

My Untethered Horse

Wendy W. Blumberg
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Beloveds
I want to tell you
A dream I had
In the darkest part
Of night
A dream so vivid
I have to believe
It was no dream
But real
 
I am riding on the back
Of an untethered horse
I too     untethered
No saddle     no stirrups
No reins
Come between us
As my hands hold to her mane
My knees pressed against
The shine of the hair
On her sides
 
Oh     I would ride free
Forever
I call to the wind
On the back of this
Untethered horse
My soul     my spirit
As free as she
Galloping on the sunlit shore
With an endless sea
Behind her
 
Then Beloveds
I wake filled with joy
Feel my spirit speak
Hear words
From my soul
Telling me
The untethered horse
Is my horse
She is God’s love
For me
My freedom
I can ride untethered
Free forever
 
All I must do
Is let go
Drain pools of negativity
Collected through years
Of judgmental thoughts
Judgmental words spoken aloud
Deep pain from shame
From guilt
For things that were done
Not done
Neglected     forgotten
By me
Let them pass
Through my consciousness
Like water through a sieve
 
Let go     let them go
Unto God

–Inspired by the book, The Untethered Soul, by Michael Singer

Big Blue Part II

Wendy W. Blumberg

*editor’s note: Wendy’s Big Blue post received some fun comments. In response to a friend’s email that arrived in Wendy’s in-box shortly after the post was uploaded, her friend describes her own memoires of a 1960’s, seatbelt-less Buick with her own five children sliding around. Wendy replied with the following email:

“Big Blue” had a vista dome, and I didn’t remember the third back seat at first, but now that you mention it, there was one and it faced forward, unlike other station wagons. Knowing Ronny and Andy’s carsick problems, we didn’t want any of the kids facing backwards. Even Danny and Dina!

Ugh! And isn’t it fun to know we share this Buick Vista Dome experience? I loved “Big Blue.” We sold it to a neighbor on our cul-de- sac when we moved to San Clemente. “Big Blue” had over 200,000 miles and I guess we decided it was time to part. Broke my heart, but there was only us-ins left at home to drive it.

The neighbor bought it and immediately had an accident. They sold it I guess, and that also made me sad! But the worst was yet to come. One afternoon, Steve and I were driving on a back road in San Juan Capistrano; how we managed to get on the road we couldn’t figure out. There was a chain link fence with a canvas like material covering the fence from the inside of what appeared to be a lot with abandoned cars. All of a sudden, I spotted a familiar luggage rack on the roof of a car.

“Stop! Stop!” I yelled. Steve slammed on the breaks, not knowing what I was yelling about. “It’s ‘Big Blue.’” I started to cry. “’Big Blue’s’ ending its life in a junk yard of abandoned and messed up cars.”

We got out to make certain it was indeed “Big Blue”. It was; a telltale color blue was all we could see, but the luggage rack and the vista dome and the color blue was all we needed to verify “Blue’s” identity.

You may wonder, dear Sylvia, how I could get so attached to a car. Never had before, never have since. But so many little trips, so many children, not only ours, had ridden in it. So many drives to my mother and stepfather’s home. So many places we had gone in “Big Blue.” Never should have sold it; but that’s a ridiculous statement. Just maybe not to that particular neighbor. But who knew!

Love you, dearest friend,

Wendy