What is in a name?

What’s in a name?

Does a name define who we are? Does it tell the world anything about us?

Would I be the same person if I were Cheryl, or Marianne, or Esmerelda?

We are given names as children, take a “confirmation” name, change our name with marriage, divorce, adoption.

We change names to hide or to please ourselves.

Some people go by initials. Some by a middle name. Some by a nick name.

I had an Uncle Slicker whose real name was Erwin. He went to the army as Erwin the country boy and came back as Slicker (a play on city slicker?). It must have been a good nickname because he never went back to Erwin.

Why do we call a John, Jack, or Henry, Hank. Elizabeth, Betsy or Margaret, Peggy?

Our last names used to mean something. Maurer was brick layer/mason. Johnson was son of John.

Many modern names are made up, or have unusual spelling. Some, to reflect culture. Some, just to be unique.

But really, what is in a name? “A rose by any other…”

It’s a Beautiful, Bitter Day

Like a sunny winter day – at minus 6 degrees

Like the burst of freedom – after losing a job

Like a long overdue family gathering – for a funeral

Like cuddling with a child – after a cancer diagnosis

Like seeing the truth – before taking your last breath

Happy New Year 2024

Another new year looms – with new hopes and new plans.

Mine started out quietly. When I went to bed, it was New Years somewhere over the Atlantic. Celebrations went on without me as I slept.

Little did I know what the first few days of the new year would bring.

On Jan 2, my physical therapy on my new knee went well, but my visit to the surgeon’s office, not so much. I casually mentioned a small twinge in my right hip which x-rays revealed to be more moderate to severe arthritis. Oh, yay. Just like plumbing, fix one thing and something else starts to leak. The best treatment for now is losing weight. That is just about the entire country’s big resolution. Never quite worked for me for long, but hey, it’s a new year.

Things could be worse. I’m still here, alive and kicking (more or less).

Financially, 2024 is looking to be an interesting one. My car is eating oil, so that needs to be addressed. Dec 23 we had new carpet installed, so that has to be paid. One of my hearing aids died, so I’ll need an upgrade on those. The country club fees are due. Insurance is coming up… Well, I do have a roof over my head, I have friends and family who care, and I have my health, such as it is. So, what is there to complain about? (don’t get me started on the 2024 election!)

Come on 2024. I can take it!

So, Happy New Year.

Buckle up!

Fog

Boredom is like a fog,
muting all color,
blurring all clarity.

My current course is shrouded,
hidden by the losses of yesterday
and the fears of tomorrow.

Maybe rain can dispel the fog.
Maybe sunlight can burn through the hopelessness.
Maybe a distant foghorn can lead me safely home.

Among the Gravestones

Here, among the gravestones,
where the silence is sliced open
by passing cars and my restless thoughts,

Here, where life meets death
and the present
meets the past,

I find some solace.

These were lives lived,
with all the joys and tribulations,
all the loves and disappointments.

These were just ordinary people
trying to understand life,
trying to do the best they could with what they had.

I can relate.

Here, where mourners walk,
and plastic flowers endure,
and nature takes back its own,

Here, among the gravestones,
among these stoic granite markers,
engraved with precious names and dates,

I am reminded what it means to have lived.

The Memory of Tears

April showers bring May flowers,
but what do April tears bring?

The sadness of snow and winter
gives way to sun and spring,

but the memory of tears lingers
even through summer and autumn.

It is the way of love
never forgotten.

Tears on the Window

Tears on the window,
slowly streaming down.
Wash away the sorrow and the pain.

Water from the heavens,
cleansing as it falls.
Wash away the sadness,
Healing Rain.

Newly Retired

Slowly now, I feel myself unwinding
There are busy days
And nothing days
But obligations seem a bit less binding.

Leave me in 1966

Before cell phones took off
Before social media controlled our lives
Before people just said whatever popped into their heads

Before compromise was forgotten
Before “all” became “us and them”
Before manners and self-control were abandoned

Before we knew constant fear of the unfamiliar
Before we killed each other during petty arguments
Before athletes and politicians made more money than god

I want to go back to simpler times.
I want to go back to youthful ignorance.
I want to go back to when I still believed.

Just leave me in 1966 with Star Trek and Andy Griffith,
When the world was probably not that different,
but I was.

A Poem without a Poet

What is a poet without a poem?
What are stanzas without the words?
What are the words without the music of the soul?

The cosmic dust of my mind quavers
seemingly ready to burst into song…

What holds me back?