Wonderful angels amongst us

An inspired pen's gratitude

The season of peace, love and joy doesn't need to be on Christmas in particular. After all, sharing, giving and caring for the lonely, ill, alone or grieving can be showered anytime.

Right now I'm thinking of angels, human angels in our midst. Oh yes, Virginia, it doesn't have to be a Santa Claus. There are people in our midst who show the spirit of sharing, who reach out to those who are disquieted, sick, hurting and in need of care. The human angel, or the giver can be a friend, an acquaintance, a neighbour, a colleague, an office mate, or someone we meet in the by-ways of life. These wonderful caring human angels are our "good Samaritans" so to speak.


It's always a blessing when people truly care. It could be family, friends, relatives or work mates.  These people possess wonderful keys that can open great doors to our lives. Sometimes they provide entrance to places we would never dare to tread or go by ourselves. Sometimes they even surprise us with gifts we don't deserve.

For some brief moments in time, we have a carer, a family, a sumptuous lunch or afternoon tea, and wonderful gift of friendships - what a difference a day makes, what a wonderful feeling to those who are cared. With these thoughts in mind, I remember Mother Teresa, that most kind-hearted Catholic nun who is credited for having said,

"Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty."
~ Mother Teresa ~

So too, it's wonderful to experience that gift of giving without any thought of receiving anything in return. I know, email is the easiest way to keep in touch.  There's Skype, and phones.  Are you across the miles from people you care for? Go get a simple card, write your meaningful thoughts, cheer your loved ones or friends. They'll love that. I always do,  relishing the old traditional card I can touch and feel. Yes, it doesn't have to be Christmas that angels do their work.

To all human angels out there, those wonderful carers and thoughtful people, this post is for you, - thank you very much from the heart. May God bless you all a thousand-fold.

Strong and enduring tulips in the snow

On endurance and strength, inspired by tulips in the snow.

The photo "Tulips in the Snow" is a compliment of my Dutch friend Wim Vingerhoed, a Mozart enthusiast from Eindhoven, Holland. Wim has given me numerous wonderful images of Mozart, flowers and nature, but this one, tulips in the snow" has always been a favourite. A lovely sight of yellow-coloured tulips in snow. Ik wens je een prettige dag.

It's spring here in Sydney, although at times we experience the four seasons without snow. On the other side of the hemisphere where other friends live, it is autumn, and perhaps might make more encore after the actual start of winter. Beholding the photo taken by my friend Wim, I wish I'm over where he took it, go out and get snowed on. My mind wanders. In my musings, the cold air seeps through my being while I delightfully witness how the snow clings to the tulips and almost cover some new buds on the trees around.

Tulips, most popular in the Netherlands, don't bend over or resign to the cold. They stand tall against the gusts of winter air, with their bloom, yellow in this photo dusted with snow. Look at the lovely image: they're brave and strong, unresigning to the cold. I love tulips alongside roses and orchids. Spring is the season expected to recover from winter's extreme cold. But winter is not necessarily harsh.

I so admire the fortitude of tulips in the snow, almost in rebellious defiance to the cold winter winds. What endurance and strength amid life's challenges if we let go and let God.



Image credit:

"Tulips in the Snow" by Wim Vingerhoed.

Coping with Grief by Writing

Thank God I'm a Writer

Living with a loved one's loss is a major challenge to hurdle. Some colleagues and friends journalise. I occasionally do. It's actually therapeutic. Although well-meaning friends may offer support, self-help books and other first aids for emotional hurt are also available. It's only when we experience the loss itself that we can fully understand what the bereaved undergoes, along with the extent of relationship we have with the departed.

Myths about grief and loss of a loved one proliferate, but I'd like to think that they are just that, myths. Sharing lessons learned about grief and grieving, some of them, the hardest way…

• Pretending to carry on as if nothing has happened does not help.
• Each of us doesn't grieve in the same way.
• We can be angry about our loss.
• Instead of avoiding it, talking about it to supportive people reduces the pain.
• We don't need to think only about pleasant things.
• We don't always have to keep our feelings under control.
• We don't have to keep extra busy just because we are grieving.
• That even if our faith is strong, grief can still be as intense.
• The painful feeling diminishes as acceptance of reality progresses.
• We should not set a milestone when the healing will completely end because we cannot. It might take months or years.
• To never expect help from friends or relatives, that way we don't get disappointed and hurt more, but if they do, to thank them graciously.
• To regularly pray and ask for strength.

Emotional healing is more difficult than an ordinary wound. But we should let the process happen, and let the healing begin. Thank God for the gift of being able to write one's thoughts and sentiments. Such a cooling therapy.

All the Things You Are (Song)

 
Down Memory Lane / Song 


"All the Things You Are" is a song composed by Jerome Kern with lyrics written by Oscar Hammerstein II. It was written for the musical Very Warm for May (1939). It appeared in the film Broadway Rhythm (1944).





Other Link:

Ella Fitzgerald sings All The Things You Are. YouTube, uploaded by Cristin mce. Accessed April 14, 2012.


Video Credit:

All the Things Are.  YouTube, uploaded by Hoffemay. April 14, 2012.



(c)  April 14, 2012.  Tel. Leaves from my Musings. All rights reserved.

Of poetry, rhyme and the rhythm of life

What a poet is, is not easy to describe. Poets demonstrate creativity, an imaginative power. They arrange words and phrases with rhyme and rhythm, with beauty and musicality. Recently, I've been reflecting on an entry I wrote in my journal, something to do with "blowing this thing called life."

Today I've reflected on this again, in earnest, after a long phone chat with a friend who I haven't heard from for a while. Both busy with our separate pathways. She said she decided to call instead of email. Talk was good, the supportive sharing and active listening, as happens with true friends.

I found myself searching through past pages of this particular journal of mine again, one with a poem sent to me by my good friend Liz Ringrose. The poem is much related to my ongoing challenges and predicaments. It was written by William Henry Davies (1871-1940), a 19th-century British poet. 


He wrote, I quote and share:

"What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs, and stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass, where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight, streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance, and watch her feet,how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare."

As I stare and keep staring, and try to live in-between times, I came up with these thoughts that, really, waiting times are growing times, and also, learning times. No matter where we are in the season of our lives.  

About W.H. Davies: William Henry Davies (1871-1940) was born in Newport, Monmouthshire, Wales. His father was a Publican. After an apprenticeship as a picture-frame maker and a series of labouring jobs, he travelled to America.

He returned to England after an accident whilst jumping a train in Canada, where he lost a foot. Upon his return to Britain he led a poor, hard life living in London lodging houses and as a pedlar in the country. In 1923, he married Emma, who was much younger than he.

W.H. William published his first poems when he was aged 34. His poetry, exhibiting a natural simple and earthy style, is mainly on the subject of nature or life on the road. He wrote two novels and autobiographical works. His best known is Autobiography of a Super-Tramp.