LUGGAGE Lady

Contemplations about Life, Love, & the Pursuit of Meaningful Existence…

Archive for the month “March, 2013”

He Who Galvanizes

 

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To ALL who inspire — perhaps without even realizing…

One thousand five hundred sixty-three days

I awaited

The arrival of your pioneering imagination

Possessing power

To transport me places

I’d never have sought alone

With clever inventiveness

You illustrated my world

You were Luke

And I Leia

How freely we roamed

Growing up in a time

When amusement resided

In a child’s enterprising mind

Endless stories scripted

Performed to an audience of squirrels and birds

You heightened my fascination with language

Memorizing our favorite Pink Floyd lyrics

To croon along the moon-splashed river

Gurgling through our backyard

Never just a song

Rather a fervent interpretation of the essence

Behind every line

As we lamented

How quickly adults swapped youthful dreams

For the mundane

And what impact our teensy existence might render

Upon inconceivable universal vastness

No matter the backdrop

The intangible imprint

Forged by your loyal companionship

Is a guarded privilege

I shall never take for granted

Held in highest esteem:

He Who Galvanizes

***

This is dedicated to my humble baby brother, who not only coined the “LUGGAGE Lady” handle and encouraged this blog, but who has served as the mystical force behind my artistic/dramatic expression — always!  ♥

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We Can Never Go Back

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Every summer growing up, my family journeyed from Chicago suburbia to my grandparent’s farm in southern Illinois. They called us “city kids,” and we couldn’t wait to indulge in the expansive freedoms of country life. Grandpa’s antics left us in constant stitches while Grandma’s love-laced culinary prowess nourished both body and soul.

We’d spring from the wood-paneled station wagon t0 a sporadic chorus of moos, oinks, and cackles, while honeysuckle, tomatoes heavy on the vine, and sweet corn tickled our noses. I’d affix myself to Grandma’s elbow, an eager sponge mirroring my mentor’s every move. From sunup to sundown she labored, transforming each morsel of food consumed with tireless hands.

Woven into the daily demands were simple pleasures, like piling onto the front porch swing at the end of the long day. Grandparents first, followed by a layer of grandchildren, and topped off with the latest litter of purring kittens. The swing’s chains creaked in time with chirping male crickets claiming their conquests. An occasional freight train rumbled down nearby tracks as we kids marveled at stars not visible back home. Sometimes, a puff of cool air bored through the wall of humidity, teasing us with anticipation of a brewing storm.

When bolts of electricity splintered the horizon in flashy zigzags, we’d count out the seconds until thunderous vibrations rattled the windows of the tiny farmhouse. Scooching closer together, Grandpa would captivate us with another tale — some more far-fetched than others — but any eyebrows raised in Grandma’s direction only elicited a collaborative grin. They did eventually own a television, but I never recall watching it. Even as children, we were astute enough to know what we’d be missing out on in the real world.

All these years later, the wisdom seeded in the heartland of my youth seems more relevant than ever:  Log off, power down, and cherish life’s golden moments because summertime slips away in a blink, and once the harvest arrives — We Can Never Go Back.

Postponing Life for a Braver Day…

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Ah, that exhilarating dream…

Abounding with infinite possibility

You courageously hover

Heart booming

Butterflies swarming

Unknowns blazing upon your cheeks

Yet you swallow, unflinchingly, against a cottony tongue

Reigning in skittered nerves

Harnessing the river of trepidation rushing from brain to toes

You’re empowered

TRULY ALIVE

Cascading through anxiety

Delving untethered into the wild blue yonder

Staring life squarely in the face

Invigorated by freedom so delectable

Willing the sensation to never end…

⚓️⚓️⚓️

…But the alarm clock jars

Severing your fantasy

Grating beeps lurching you back to reality

Into the greedy clutches of a well-known thief

Your mind spirals downward

Engaged in a dizzying battle with itself

Rooting you in place

Incessant “what ifs”

Serving as your rusty anchor for longer than you’d care to admit

Panic’s prisoner

Postponing Life for a Braver Day…

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