World Beginnings

We are born into this world helpless and our path is unknown. Every parent wants the very best for their child and harbor secret dreams, but we never truly know what lies ahead for them. We cherish each success and share their sadness when things don’t work out as hoped. My daughter-in-law, Jira, was born in a small village, hours outside of Bangkok to a farming family. Little could her parents imagine where her path would take her on that April day. Gaining acceptance into Thai universities is not easy, but Jira was successful and earned a university degree. Sadly not recognized in the USA. Brett and Jira met in Bangkok where he was working and they fell in love. When he came back to the US, Jira soon followed and Brett navigated the maze of the immigration process. He said the naturalization ceremony was one of the most moving events he has ever experienced. The judge’s remarks brought tears. What adjectives would I use to describe Jira? Intelligent, determi

Sara Teasdale wrote There Will Come Soft Rains after the horror of WW1,   depicting the power of Mother Nature to regenerate after war’s destruction. In 1950, Ray Bradbury took the title and wrote a science fiction short story describing the destruction of a self-functioning house as it slowly breaks down after a strong wind blows a tree branch into the kitchen. Bradbury’s choice of the kitchen for the start of the destruction of the house is important. This room has traditionally been the symbol of family life…the hearth and the home. Love for the soul and food for the body. But the mother was replaced by automatic coffee makers and toasters. An automated voice droned out birthdays and the weather. The imagery of a busy family, dashing madly out of the door to make more money, to buy more things is painfully sad. What is our response after a disaster? Often it is one of defiance “We will rebuild bigger and better” with more gadgets to make our lives simpler,

Little spider spins   and spins her web fragile and beautiful straight from her body. Toiling day in day out. Blinding sun Battering rain. Spinning her sticky home Woman gives life   through her   fragile and beautiful body. Spinning protective cocoon, shielding her young. Assailed by prejudices expectations ill   conceived. But the little spider hears no angry voices and spins again. Photo Wikipedia Ajijic, April 2020

The second week of the COVID quarantine meanders like a weed through our gardens. They are choking the breath. Here life is lived outside, yet this insidious weed has chased the retirees from the Plaza and the Malecon. Young men no longer gather on steps drinking cold beer and wafting marijuana. Every morning I enjoyed my coffee watching the hustling and bustling on the street below me as parents walked young children to school and women did their daily shopping. Now the street is eerily empty. Schools are vacant and businesses shuttered. Occasionally a woman will go the tienda next door and come back with a quart of milk or orange juice. This morning as I drank coffee and planned my day, laughter erupted at the house next door. Uproarious, deep belly laughter from the men and high pitched shrieks from women and children. The sound died down and then bellowed out again. Suddenly I was back with my Aunt Janis, Uncle Forrest, Aunt Annie Mae and Uncle Jim telling stories that bro