Solut (WC)

  

(Wendy Cabell, originally from February 26, 2021, feast day of Purim, whose heroine Esther is above. Image from here.)

Originally from 2021, revisited now in loving memory of my Mother

Solut

(celebratory walk after several months in cast from broken femur, age two)

The Latin root solv and its variant solut both 

mean "loosen"... --  from Membean, “Solved by a Root Solution”

Hurray, hurray, it is today! The Sun it spills on

sidewalk gray, as white shoes dance on feet at

play, while dear old Bonnie* leads the way, and

things with wings around me sway. And,

"Mom, do you hear that pretty sound? Of trees, 

and wind, and O wow! rain. And never to be 

in that cast again, not trapped, but out, and 

Sun my frame",

Hurray, hurray, it is today! 

"Time to go" , says Mom.

"Till next time!" , I say.

*Faithful collie Bonnie, memory eternal

**From prompt: Freewrite after the post-war celebratory walk in Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway–a giddy, flowing, moving, interactive-with-surroundings type of joy– (in this case it’s my childhood walk above). From Esther Linn's Quarantine Write-in (Hugo House, Seattle), February 25, 2021.

Upon discovering it's not blue cheese –- it’s ice cream (WC)

  

(Wendy Cabell, originally from March 10, 2024, Rosh Chodesh (new moon) of Adar, feast day of Our Lady of the Vine/Oak, Saint Anastasia the Patrician of Alexandria and Saint Marie-Eugénie de Jésus. Image from here.)

Originally from 2024, revisited now in loving memory of my Mother

Upon discovering it's not blue cheese –- it’s ice cream (new moon of Adar, 2024) My Mom makes the best mint chip shakes. She doesn't use a blender, that ruins it. You have to mix it by hand to get that contrast of liquid and thick, one chasing the other as you sip — till the tummy is comforted, cool. Till my little brothers and stepdad make it a fivesome, we settle round the TV –- our storytime. God willing,

it's Little House On the Prairie, or Remington Steele or Different Strokes tonight. Though I’d even suffer through The Incredible Hulk or The Dukes of Hazzard for one of Mom’s shakes. Flown to too when a migraine looms, it works better than any pill. “I want you to eat this”, says Mom, so simply, small smile. No judgment. Her love stirred right in. Me at age 11 and anorexic, that mint chip shake –- it was the only thing could break through. As digestion now wanes, I replace it with goat milk –- piping hot no less. But it suffices. Mother’s milk by any other name being the same.

*From combined prompts: Think of a food memory you loved or hated as a child, who or what is associated with it, its sensory experience, and how you feel about that food now.  A meal that takes you right back. Then free write as inspired by Mary Karr’s The Art of Memoir (from Tresha’s Memoir Made Easy class, March 10, 2024) and Ted Kooser’s “Applesauce” (from Robin Nester (of The Poetry Salon)’s Generative Writing Class, November 25, 2023). 

[Info for November 25, 2023: Leavetaking of the Entry of the Most Holy Theotokos Into the Temple, and feast day of (above) Our Lady of the Rock, the Cyprus Icon of the Mother of God of Mercy, Saint Catherine of Alexandria and Saint Imma of Würzburg. Image from here.]

Spark-seek (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, August 19, 2024, afterfeast of the Dormition, Super Blue Moon, feast day of (above) Our Lady Star of the Sea, Australia, the Don Icon of the Mother of God, Matriarch Sarah, Saint John Eudes, . Image from here.)

Spark-seek

(for the Afterfeast of the Dormition, and Super Blue Moon, 2024)

            Joy is holy. That's why the world is so sad. 

            There is no joy outside of the Living God.

             –Father James Blout

My daily declutter-reminder to Joseph: The floor is not storage space.

Spying the half full bag of white cheddar popcorn he left out on the table, 

now we’re talking. Or rather munching

and thinking about last night’s full moon. “You have to come out ~right now~” he said,

no time for my sweater, or decision. 

So worth it. Clouds hold an angel, then a mantle outstretched. 

Moon reappears out of a newly formed heart.

“Let’s go inside right now”, I whisper,  

heart’s soft solidity, beats and billows, still in view.

*From prompt: Freewrite as inspired by "Please Call Me By My True Names" by Thich Nhat Hanh, being super specific to you/this time and place; from Kim Malinowski’s Poetry Salon class of August 19, 2024.