Choral composer Marie-Claire Saindon sent me a link to ‘Ripples in a Lifetime’, the choral piece that she composed using my poem “Ripples and Wrinkles” and I’m sharing it with you. https://soundcloud.com/…/ripples-in-a-lifetime-sab…
I rarely ask or expect anyone to share my links, but I would truly appreciate it if you would have a listen to this lovely piece, add a comment to the SoundCloud page that it’s on, and share this with anyone you think would enjoy it.
Marie Claire has set several of my poems to choral music and I am always thrilled with the beauty she adds to my words. It is a collaboration that poets and lyricists dream of. 🙂
I shared this on my Facebook page, but thought it might also be of interest to you, my readers here on my blog…
Facebook asks what’s on my mind – here goes… I am so tired of labels. When did it become necessary to label ourselves and others based on age, sexual orientation, and even diet! All these things, and more, each make up only one aspect of who we are. Why would we want to pigeonhole ourselves as just one aspect? We are all so much more.
I have always believed that when you generalize, you’re generally wrong. I know young people who are wise and wonderful, and I know ‘Boomers’ who are immature and childish. The real danger is in seeing the label, not the human being. It’s easier to condemn, chide, discriminate against, or ridicule a ‘group’ than an individual.
Labeling people is not only rude, inaccurate, and disrespectful, it is dangerous. It invites us to become callous, to brush people aside before we even get to know them and that deprives us of many joyous opportunities to become acquainted with so many interesting, wise, funny, delightful souls.
Please don’t label me and I promise I won’t label you.
I am a mother, a grandmother, and a great grandmother. But on Mother’s Day this year I think back to my own mother. A child of the twenties (great depression), a young girl through the thirties (dirty thirties), and a young woman during the forties ( World War 2 – the battle of Britain), she did not have everything handed to her on a silver platter. She was brave, smart, resourceful, and had a strong, and sometimes quirky, sense of humour. Adventurous, she left England as a War Bride to follow her Canadian husband to a whole new world.
She was loving and instilled a strong sense of right and wrong in her children. She also sang with them and laughed with them and made them feel treasured.
I was one of the lucky ones. Although my family in Canada was small, it was incredibly loving and close. My grandmother lived with us until she passed away when I was about 14. Although sterner, there was never any doubt that she adored her grandchildren without reservation. And she made the best chocolate cake ever.
Once, as a young teen, I remember some friends talking about going away to summer camp and I asked my mum and dad why I never went to summer camp. They seemed a bit mystified by my question and then Mum said “Why would we send you away? We want to spend the summer with you.” And we did, camping, gardening, swimming, fishing, eating chocolate cake.
I am sorry for people who did not have a childhood like mine. I wish they could have had more love and kindness in their formative years. If I could I’d share my good familial fortune with them all. But all I can do is try to pass on the kindness, compassion, and strength of my mother’s example.
Happy Mother’s Day. If you don’t have one, you can share mine. She would have been 100 this year.
Just finished the design of the book cover – I’ll share a sneak peek with you here! My second book of poetry is titled ”Sweet Clover Year and other poems”. The book is complete and just needs a last edit and proof before it goes into print.
A word for the sun’s warmth on a winter day. Because words like blessedness, bliss, paradise, delight, savor, and revel Are not enough to encompass the pure joy Of the unexpected warmth bathing my face on a bright winter’s day.
When I think of Scotland I feel like a cut flower out of water, a bird sighing for the egg, a fish searching for that special inlet.
When I think of Scotland There’s a fierceness in my heart that longs to speak a language I don’t understand. There’s a prickling in my finger tips to touch the stones of crumbling castles. There’s a thrilling in my soul In a memory of pipes echoing through mist.
When I think of Scotland There’s a sadness and a joy and a longing To live my life in two places at once.
Linda Studley 