Sandra Heska King

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Choosing Joy

November 14, 2016 By Sandra Heska King

pointing-new-leaf

 

Choosing Joy

Above the sea, morning rises bruised,
mottled pink and purple,
like it did battle in the dark hours
or collided with some celestial bedpost.
I watch the sky pass through
various stages of healing until it clears.

Back at the cottage, I study
my new supply of tea leaves
with deluxious descriptors like

      Coconut Macaron
      Peach Cobbler
      Chocolate Hazelnut
      Cuddletime

Names that invite me to

      slow down
      relax
      give thanks
      and celebrate.

Maybe I feel like

      a simple green jasmine
      or Darjeeling
      or Earl Gray
      or this stray bag of Zen

What about some chai topped with a little whipped cream?

I choose Joy.

I heat some water on the stove in the red kettle,
steep the blend of jasmine flowers,
orange peel, and essence of tangerine.

Tiny geckos scatter as I follow the brick path
to the white bench under the palms
near the empty birdbath.
I curl my legs under me, lift Joy to my lips.

But it’s too weak.

 

cbto-7

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Comments

  1. Louise Gallagher says

    November 14, 2016 at 10:04 am

    There is something profoundly stirring about this post Sandra. It makes me want to reach for a cup of Joy with you so that together, it will be strong enough for both of us to savour it.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      November 14, 2016 at 11:02 am

      That would give me so much joy, Louise.

  2. Martha Orlando says

    November 14, 2016 at 12:14 pm

    Praying for stronger, deeper joy for you, my friend! Loved, loved, loved this poem!

    • Sandra Heska King says

      November 14, 2016 at 1:52 pm

      Thanks so much, friend. Hugs.

  3. Carol J. Garvin says

    November 17, 2016 at 3:15 pm

    Coming late to this post, Sandy, and loving it! Seeing your “Choosing Joy” instantly brought to mind Sara Frankl and her influence on me and how I perceive joy. I haven’t been back to her blog since the second anniversary of her death, when I wrote a post remembering her. Now I think I’ll go visit there. Maybe with a cup of tea, although my choice will be a cinnamon Chai.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      November 22, 2016 at 10:33 pm

      Coming late to respond. I read this earlier and got to thinking about Sara. Gone too soon, two months before my mom. I just visited her blog, too. And I have her book on my iPad. Maybe it’s a good time to open it again.

      Love chai. Lately I’ve been topping it with whipped cream…

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Talking with D about his grandfather. One of the f Talking with D about his grandfather. One of the farmhands said Grandpa King was one of the toughest men he ever knew. In the dead of a Michigan winter, he wore a baseball cap instead of a knit hat. In April through October he never wore a shirt.
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Once he was raking hay and while trying to get the rake in gear, he fell against the tractor fender. He finished raking hay. Then for the next two days, he rode on a combine bagging oats, bouncing and breathing in dust and lifting bags. After 3 days, he said, “I don’t feel very good. I’m gonna go to the doctor snd see what’s wrong.” He had two or three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and pneumonia.
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D said he only saw him tear up three times.
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1. When his 19-year-old grandson died from a heart condition.
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2. When D said, “ Goodbye Grandpa. I’ll see you in the spring.” ( D was maybe 11 or 12. ) Grandpa was on his way to FL for the winter and knew he probably wouldn’t be back. He died about a month later.
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3. When he talked about the fact that the hotels in FL would not let black baseball players stay there. That was in the 50s.
“Be like a tree and let the dead leaves drop.” “Be like a tree and let the dead leaves drop.” -Rumi
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Even if it’s spring.
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This evening’s walk.
Happy place. Happy place.
E.T. phone home. E.T. phone home.
Side effects update - 50 hours post Covid vaccine Side effects update - 50 hours post Covid vaccine #2...
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No chocolate this year. Besides, the neighborhood No chocolate this year. Besides, the neighborhood raccoon we saw up the tree the other night has (had?) a sweet tooth and stole the box the next-door hubby had delivered--took it around the side of their house and ate it all.

Also no flowers or cards. 

Just this. And her name shall be called... drum roll...

We loved all the suggestions. But we also wanted to keep the love connection--and I wanted to let D finally get to choose a name for our 13th (if I've remembered all of them) cat. The rescue named her Valentine, so since she's the only Valentine either of us are getting today, we decided to keep that name--but as a middle name. D has been calling her "Lucy Vallie."

Lucy--for Lucille Ball (I Love Lucy) and her mischief and troublemaking. We've already seen signs of mischief in the shattered antique bottle we'd discovered next to our farmhouse in Michigan. It sat on the windowsill over the bathtub--silly me in having neglected to totally cat-proof--and in the missing top to my contact lens case--that D finally found next to the litter box. 

Also, there's the light-shedding Luci Shaw... whose poetry I love. 

And Lucy Pevensie from the Chronicles of Narnia who superly loved Aslan.

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It’s Inauguration Morning. Prayers for the incoming and the outgoing. Prayers for all of us because we are all exhausted. Prayers for peace and patience and safety and wisdom and more compassion and more kindness and more love and unity. And, please Lord, no more virus.
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