World Beginnings

Every year they migrate from parts unknown to build their nests and raise their young. Unfortunately, they had a nest under the eave of my house, right next to my covered walkway. Last year they hatched at least two sets of young. And while it was beautiful to watch the cycle of life, not only did I live in fear of a baby falling to the ground only to be pounced on by my dogs or the cat, they left unimaginable piles of poop.   This year I decided that the area would be off-limits for swallow housing and I knocked everything down and cleaned it up. Swallows are persistent to say the least. As badly as I felt for them and their need to make a home for their young, I spent two months washing off their vain attempts to create a base for their nest; every time, apologizing and telling them the area was designated “No Nesting”. Yesterday I noticed a flurry of swallow activity under the eave at the back of the house. Yes, there was a nest built and poop below. A swa...

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 simp...

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...

In 2004, Sri Lanka was at the beginning of the end of the long-running civil war between the government and the LTTE, known as the Tamil Tigers. The LTTE has the terrible distinction of creating suicide bombers, often using women as carriers, targeting political figures. Since busses were the primary transportation, they became frequent sites for their destruction,  as well as the crowded bazaars. They once attempted to bomb the government complex, which was very close to my school, and the blast rattled the windows in the staff lounge. But the one of the most brutal of their activities was the capture of children to serve as soldiers. No child was safe outside in the North  and armed soldiers would even break into homes demanding one to conscript. No one argued with the brutality of the guns in their faces. One day at school, word filtered down that the UN had captured dozens of child soldiers from the jungles in the north and that several dozen boys and g...

Life in the dusty Mississippi town was boring for “town kids” because we didn’t have cows to milk or chickens to feed. Soon after moving there, I formed a lifelong bond with another rebel whose parents were just as happy for Simone to get out of their hair as my mother was with me. So little changed in those long days and there was always a ripple of excitement when the dry goods store, Allens, changed the seasonal displays in their tiny plate glass window. We would walk to the little cluster of shops and gaze longingly at what was there and then go in to look at the new shoes, fabric and pattern books. Never mind, neither one of us could sew. But our time in Home Ec is another story. Next door to Allens’ was the movie house, run by the Floyd family and every Saturday night, there would be a still unknown movie for the whopping sum of a nickel. No money? Not a problem for us. We would snitch it from our mother’s purse. Innocently saying, “I have money for the movie, c...