Since I happily left corporate chaos behind eighteen months ago, my calendar, once overflowing with teleconferences, meetings, travel and ‘to-do’ deadlines, is now regularly sprinkled with doctor appointments, diagnostic procedures and preventative check-ups.
(MS Clipart Library)
It’s not that I hadn’t paid attention to my health when I was a stressed-out corporate exec, but without the business commitments cluttering every hour of every day, the “Fitness and Medical” category, tinted red, seems to jump off the page. In addition, I now log in those appointments for my husband as well, since we “travel in pairs” these days. Some of the time I’m actually sick or injured, like last year when I fractured my fibula, or more recently when I underwent a vitrectomy to repair the hole in my macula. But more often than not, thankfully, these appointments are preventative, rather than curative.
This morning, after a fourteen hour fast, I am doing (yet again) another lipids profile. Translation: though I am asymptomatic, and my cholesterol appears to be under control, I will sit in a technician’s cubicle, pumping my fist and pondering which arm will present the better vein. After my dutiful warnings and several failed attempts, he/she will give up and try the other arm, tapping frenetically in the hope that the thin blue line will pop up as a ripe target.
I will ignore the temptation to bloviate on that subject again, having already expounded on the joys of blood work in my post entitled“The Luck of the Draw”.
I write today, instead, about a conundrum: I endure tests and prods, mammograms and colonoscopies, hoping – trusting that in so doing I will uncover dastardly disease early; yet secretly fearing that if I keep looking under rocks I will inevitably find a slimy critter lurking.
MS Clipart Library
Still, I embrace this conundrum, and tell myself that I am in control of those things under my control. I’ll plan my days and weeks around the scheduled services, and bemoan the clumsy intrusions into my veins.
In between, I will joyously live my life, playing with grandsons, taking long weekends to look at autumn foliage, singing, writing, laughing, loving and treasuring each new, glorious dawn.
* A diamante poem is a poem that makes the shape of a diamond. The poem can be used in two ways, either comparing and contrasting two different subjects, or naming synonyms and antonyms for another subject.,,,the subject is named in one word in the first line. The second line consists of two adjectives describing the subject, and the third line contains three verbs ending in the suffix -ing which are related to the subject. A fourth line then has four nouns, again related to the subject, but only the first two words are related to the first subject. The other two words describe the opposite subject. The lines then are put in reverse, leading to and relating to either a second subject or a synonym for the first.
Here is the order:
Written in for NaBloPoMo October: Fall posted by BlogHer. Prompt for October 1 – what is your favorite thing about Autumn?
I love Autumn.
I love the falling leaves and resplendent colors; and the cool nights and bright days. In particular, I love the unique quality of the light as daytime hours are imbued with a sparkling clarity, while cool, clear evenings allow dazzling views of the firmament.
I love harvested apples, pumpkins and gourds; and filling my pie tins and cake pans with their colorful fruit. And I love the Sunday aroma of a slow roast in the oven, and freshly baked bread on the cutting board.
I love planting mums in place of the leggy, summery begonias and then sitting back in my rustic Adirondack chair, sharing a glass of wine, without the annoyance of pesky mosquitoes coming in for a bite; just as I love dodging acorns torpedoes, while watching my bird-feeder-raiding squirrels, industriously gathering them up to stash away in my large deck planters.
I love hearing the sound of the rehearsing high school band from a distance, through my open windows (I also love that AC is turned off) preparing for the Saturday football game. And as the October and November sports schedules pick up, I love watching my grandsons jockey their TKD schedules to accommodate season-ending baseball and season-opening soccer practices. I secretly rejoice that my daughter is the one responsible for making sure the uniforms are washed and ready to go. And as October wanes and blustery November breezes in, I love sitting on the sidelines of their soccer games on a chilly morning, wrapped in a chunky hand-knit sweater, sipping steamy hot chocolate from a thermos cup.
I love transferring logs from the woodpile to the back porch and lighting the first fire. I revel in waking to the smell of burning wood that permeates the neighborhood – telling me that hubby has my morning coffee waiting on the hearth, downstairs.
Most of all, I love autumn because it has always been a time of fresh beginnings for me. You can keep your New Year’s Day resolutions and all the to-do about turning over a new leaf. The absolute best time for turning leaves is autumn. Since my childhood days when new pencil cases, sharpened No.2 pencils, and Lone Ranger book-bags signaled the return to school, it was the chance to begin anew – with a new teacher, a new grade, perhaps a new school, and a new slate (literally and figuratively). Anything was possible.
An insistent rhythm churns inside me – ticking like a metronome’s predictably reliable clicking. It subtly reminds me that the human spirit is inexorably driven by circadian rhythms. I am once again enthused and renewed with the confident knowledge that anything – everything is possible.
Fifty years ago today My marble notebook, open lay:
Scribbled lessons,
Homework sessions,
Boyfriend doodles,
Girlfriend toodles.
Atop each gray-lined leaf, A simple sign of pure belief:
‘neath penciled cross,
“JMJ” embossed.
📓*📓*📓
As the beneficiary of a Catholic school education, I (like many of my schoolmates), was accustomed to heading every page of every notebook with the symbol of the “Holy Family” – Jesus, Mary and Joseph, beneath the sign of the cross. I’m not sure why this prompt dredged up that memory. Perhaps my upcoming 50th high school reunion was the catalyst, as I dust off memorabilia and long-suppressed memories of those simpler days; days when we were so young, innocent, foolish and oh, so trusting.
This weekend we’re asking for 33 of your own words about a famous trio. The trio could be from literature, from history or from pop culture. Just make it yours and have fun with it. Good luck!
Today, I am taking the plunge! After 18 months of ‘thinking about it’, today is the day that my first blog, “BCI Jo” (launched on the day of my retirement from the corporate world) is itself, retired.
My enthusiasm, though tinged with trepidation, is buoyed up by the hope that loyal ‘followers’ will come along for the ride, trusting that BCI Jo is still here, behind an opalescent persona, “Opal Reflections”; the new portal for “Perspectives, through Prose, Poetry and Photography.”
Stay tuned and hopefully, redirection will be painless.
Suddenly,
I’m witness
to his silent moment of triumph.
Suddenly, I see,
that he hears only
through pulsing stringed vibrations
and deafened, thundering applause.
Suddenly,
I weep.
*******
This weekend, we want you to give us a 33-word time travel story. We don’t usually tell you what to title your piece, but we’d love it if you could title it with the year/date that you choose.
My Grandsons, three plus two, my ‘starting five’ they rampage, romp, and shoot at hoops with zest My ‘Sis’ has five Grand-girls, in pink they thrive.
all prettied up, her girls dress to the nines while mine, in ‘Pirate Blue”, launch plunder-quests My Grandsons, three plus two, my ‘starting five’
my boys find slimy snails, enjoying grime while girly cousins neatly don their best My ‘Sis’ has five grand-girls, in pink they thrive.
my ‘Sis’ and I are Grandmas in our prime with fresh-baked cookies set for drop-in guests My Grandsons, three plus two, my ‘starting five’.
to listen to their banter – joy sublime, their young minds burst with wisdom to express My ‘Sis’ has five grand-girls, in pink they thrive.
our precious progeny: our family line our rainbow – living proof we’re truly blessed My Grandsons, three plus two, my ‘starting five’ My ‘Sis’ has five Grand-girls, in pink they thrive.
*“The highly structured villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The form is made up of five tercets followed by a quatrain. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem’s two concluding lines. Using capitals for the refrains and lowercase letters for the rhymes, the form could be expressed as: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.” (excerpted from Poets.Org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5796)
Oh city of wind and wild imaginings
Where magnificent miles
stretch ahead
Full of possibilities
Bereft of disappointments
As hope lives on
And thermals lift soaring wings on high
Night life settles in.
A full-sized baseball field, makes an unforgettable impression on an exuberant 10 year-old, taking the field for the first time with his team for regional playoffs.
Words cannot describe the feeling of pro-field spaciousness, after having played exclusively on local sandlots; and realizing that he will be hitting away, into the vast outfield, and beyond!
My interpretation of “Spacious”.
Their song arises to celestial realms bubbling o’er the cliff in coiling curls As hawk’s wings soar and float atop the elms.
and top tall branches in the clouds entwined as ring by ring, the puffs of song unfurl Their song arises to celestial realms.
at first a whispered moan, perhaps a whine ’til air is filled with gaily twirling girls As hawk’s wings soar and float atop the elms.
their may-song round the pole erupts, sublime and pastel ribbons twisted by their twirls Their song arises to celestial realms.
forever it has been since early times when innocence was prized like rarest pearls As hawk’s wings soar and float atop the elms.
their music lilts and spins incessant rhymes whilst ether rings applaud their maypole whirls Their song arises to celestial realms, As hawk’s wings soar and float atop the elms.
Inspired by Bjorn, in this weeks Studio 30Plus response, I am attempting my first ‘villanelle’*.
OPTION 1- BUBBLES
OPTION 2- CLIFF
*”The highly structured villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The form is made up of five tercets followed by a quatrain. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem’s two concluding lines. Using capitals for the refrains and lowercase letters for the rhymes, the form could be expressed as: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.”
I love Autumn.
I love hearing the sound of the rehearsing high school band from a distance, through my open windows (I also love that AC is turned off) preparing for the Saturday football game. And as the October and November sports schedules pick up, I love watching my grandsons jockey their TKD schedules to accommodate season-ending baseball and season-opening soccer practices. I secretly rejoice that my daughter is the one responsible for making sure the uniforms are washed and ready to go. And as October wanes and blustery November breezes in, I love sitting on the sidelines of their soccer games on a chilly morning, wrapped in a chunky hand-knit sweater, sipping steamy hot chocolate from a thermos cup.
📓*📓*📓
Opal Reflections 