T is for TRUST

I thought I had written on this before, and I have. If you're interested, you can click here to see my previous post.

This time, however, I'm thinking a bit differently and considering what trust actually "is." I understand it to be both emotional and logical. Emotionally, I expose my personal vulnerabilities. Logically, I assess the probabilities of what I might gain or lose depending on the previous actions of the other person.

Therefore, trust means being able to predict what others will do in certain situations; trust means that I expect reciprocity, even if it's delayed; trust is allowing others to take advantage of my vulnerabilities but expecting that they won't.

Have you ever tossed a baby into the air? Most babies love this and never consider that you would let them fall. That is trust.

TRUST

Trust is a calm and confident blue.

It looks like an oasis in the midst of a slough.

It sounds like shouts of clear convictions.

It smells like the stimulating salt of the oceans.

It tastes like deep draughts of discernment.

It feels like faith in a confident comment.

Trust is the tender texture of temperament.

As the sun went down last night, I reflected upon the fact that
I trusted that the sun would come up in the morning.

As usual, thanks to Denise Nesbitt for creating ABC Wednesday and continuing to temptingly tease us with treatises, theories, and tests of creativity.

S is for SAFETY

Because I grew up in a dysfunctional and abusive family environment, I still often feel anxiety even if I logically understand that there is nothing to fear. So it got me wondering what it means to truly comprehend safety or security. As my poem acknowledges, a bird builds a nest for her babies high up in a tree so she can stay nearby and scare away any intruders. Near schools, crosswalk guards, in brightly coloured red and yellow vests, keep students safe as they cross the streets. Within the confines of home, one can sit down in the afternoon with a scented cup of tea and listen to music - or silence - and feel the warmth and coziness of being surrounded by loved ones. When a baby is born, it is immediately wrapped up tightly in a warm flannel blanket and put into the arms of its mother. Instinct on both sides should kick in with mother feeling responsible for her child's security, and child knowing it's safe in its mothers arms. Sometimes we prefer steak, but a homemade plain meal can give us a sense of security even more, knowing it was prepared by loving hands who worked hard to provide. Finally, home should be a haven whether it is small or large, ordinary or grand. I am grateful to live in a part of the world where poverty and war is something far away and I can give practical assistance through charities and relief organizations. However, now I know that I am now safe and secure from those situations that, as a child, scared me.

SAFETY

Safety is the brown of a bird's nest.
It looks like a red and yellow neon vest.
It sounds like a sigh in an afternoon's rest.
It smells like talcum on a baby newborn.
It tastes like meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn.
It feels like the third pig's house made of bricks.
Safety is a pin that will not prick.

Continued thanks to Denise Nesbitt for designing and promoting ABC Wednesday! If you would like to contribute or see other contributions, simply click here.

R is for RESPECT

November is always a time of remembrance and respect. We remember our Canadian Armed Forces for their participation in all wars since confederation (1867). Because of our ties with the British Empire, Canada joined forces in the Second Boer War, World War 1, and World War 2. Canada has also participated in multinational coalitions and fought in the Korean War, the Gulf War, the Kosovo War, and the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan. As well, Canada has played an important role in peacekeeping operations worldwide and has sent more troops than any other country.

Along with remembering Canada's military forces for their sometimes heroic endeavours to keep our country and other countries democratic, we show our utmost respect to them on November 11 every year. We honour them for their specific actions and conduct and respect them for their dedication to freedom. Here is my poem about respect.

RESPECT

Respect is a blood-tinged soldier's cerise.
It looks like privates positioned at ease.
It sounds like everyone saying "Please."
It smells like the cool crisp scent of autumn leaves.
It tastes like the bread and wine we receive.
It feels like reverberating vibrations of sound.
Respect is honoring the moral high ground.

Thanks to Denise Nesbitt and her radiant and ravishing group of revolutionaries for keeping ABC Wednesday alive. We refuse to restrain ourselves as we revere the ridiculous to the reflective to the romantic revelations of our contRibutoRs. Click HERE to reward yourselves and rejoice in renowned reflections.

Q is for QUIET

When I was in Grade 7, my Mom attended the annual Parent/Teacher Conferences because my report card had indicated that I was "reticent" in class. I had never heard that word before and was, therefore, terrified that I was in some sort of trouble. I later learned it meant "quiet," but my mother could not believe the teacher had written the comment for the correct student. However, it appears I was indeed "reticent" in class - quite the opposite of what I was like at home. We all had a good laugh and I never again worried about what the teachers wrote on my report cards.

I am naturally a very optimistic person, full of good humour, and with an internal strength when confronted with life's indomitable difficulties. However, there have been times (as my regular readers are aware) when life has knocked me down flat on my face. It has been during those times when I have needed the quiet moments to build up the strength to go forward. I know there are other people who have endured worse than I have, especially Job. I'm actually looking forward to reading this Book again with one of the Grade 12 students that I tutor. He has no knowledge of the Bible, so this will be an interesting time of sharing God's ideas of why people suffer. Here is my take on "Quiet."

QUIET

Quiet is the archetypal blue of the sky.

It looks like an eagle soaring so high.

It sounds like the silence of the first soft snow.

It smells like early primrose in the meadow.

It tastes like the coolness of candy cane.

It feels like a peace that touches the pain.

Quiet is a sigh that that comes from the soul.

This is where I like to go when I need quiet times. It's the Boundary Bay Regional Park near my home. I like to wander the back trails where I can see wild birds, rabbits, and the occasional fellow walker. It's near the salt water of Boundary Bay and the air is fresh and salty. I do my best thinking here.

ABC Wednesday is in its fifth year and on its ninth round, thanks to the quintessential Mrs. Nesbitt and her qualified and quirky gang of assistants! To check out other contributions and/or to join in the fun, simply click here.

THE GREEN THING

My sister sent me this and I like it so much, I'm sharing it with you all.

Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.

The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have this 'green' thing back in my day."

The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."

She was right -- our generation didn't have the 'green' thing in its day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. But we didn't have the 'green' thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs because we didn't have an escalator or elevator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go a few blocks. But she was right. We didn't have the 'green' thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right - we didn't have the 'green' thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV or radio in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana . In the kitchen we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she's right, we didn't have the 'green' thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn't have the 'green' thing back then.

Back then people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not a bank of sockets to power a dozen things. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza place.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the 'green' thing back then?

P is for PAIN

Before we get going, may I say I hope you all had a purrfectly perfect PUMPKIN Day!

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross says, "The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen."

I must have been chosen to be one of the "beautiful people" then, because I have been through an awful lot of both physical and emotional pain. After my late husband's suicide, my counsellor asked me, "How do you cope?" I believe I was gifted with an innate coping device - along with my faith, of course. I have always pretended to be happy when in pain, and apparently that is a sign of how strong someone is. I keep on smiling - and smiling some more. Here is my take on pain.

PAIN

Pain is the colour of a saw made of steel.
It looks like a grotesque grimace from Cain.
It sounds like the howling wind and the rain.
It smells like burning flesh on the grill.
It tastes like smoke from the dentist's drill.
It feels like shards of glass that kill.
Pain is a bitter potion designed to heal.

Thanks to Denise Nesbitt and her plethora of personnages who plunder along each week to promote ABC Wednesday by visiting all the participants to see what they’ve posted. Everyone deserves a prize for the part they take in producing perfectly productive posts!

O is for OPPOSITION

"France's spirited challenge to the haka backfired on them last night as the All Blacks took heart to win the Rugby World Cup for the first time in 24 years. As the haka began, the French players stood in a "V" formation and joined hands. Then they began to move forward slowly - over halfway - until they were standing in a wavey line about 10 metres from the All Blacks.

Last night was not the first time the All Blacks' opposition did not passively watch the pre-match tradition. This came about after a fiery response to the haka by the Ireland rugby team at Lansdowne Road in Dublin in 1989. Captain and lock Willie Anderson led his team in a slow march forward until they were standing directly in front of the All Blacks. The tactic had no effect on the match, with the All Blacks running out 23-6 winners.

In Wales in November 2008, a tense standoff at the Millennium Stadium delayed the start of the match for about a minute as both teams eyeballed each other at the end of the All Blacks' stirring rendition of Kapa o Pango. The referee had to implore both captains to get on with the game as each team refused to budge." (from nzherald.co.nz)

Here is my take on the word "opposition" in poetic form.

OPPOSITION

Opposition's the colour of New Zealand All Blacks.

It looks like crazy crowds before they attack.

It sounds like hisses and boos from rioting punks.

It smells like a living, breathing funk.

It tastes like cod liver oil recently drunk.

It feels like antagonism in some aspect.

Opposition is conflict between instinct and intellect.

Enjoy this rendition of the "haka" showing opposition to the 'nth degree at the 2011 Finals against the French, who got right in the faces of the New Zealand All Blacks!

N is for NOSTALGIA

Nostalgia is usually meant to be a yearning for the past and the "good old days." My childhood was, shall we say, dysfunctional. Therefore, I don't really "yearn" for the past. However, there are some good memories and simple things I recall fondly. For example, when I was about 7 years old and allowed to walk to and from school by myself, I remember one day in May passing by a house with a gigantic lilac tree in full bloom. I stopped and took many deep sniffs of those gorgeous flowers and from that day on, I've always adored lilacs. As a family, we loved to go camping in the Okanagan or Kootenay regions of British Columbia and we girls would laze around reading comic books like "Little Lulu," and "Archie." Remember when you could get a big comic book digest for 25 cents? Whew...times have sure changed! Here's my take on nostalgia.

NOSTALGIA

Nostalgia is the gentle grey of a friendly phantom.
It looks like a black and white photo album.
It sounds like nursery rhymes and bubble gum.
It smells like lilacs on the walk home from school.
It tastes like tomato rice soup on a day that's cool.
It feels like Vicks vapour rub and the warmth from firewood.
Nostalgia is sweet memories of childhood.

Here we are camping at some BC lake one summer.
left to right younger sister Jackie, me, and older sister Robin.

As always, thanks go to Denise Nesbitt and her naughty but nice group of neighbours from around the world. Some wear necklaces and some wear neckties. They all navigate the ABC Wednesday website to visit all the contributors. To see everyone's incredibly creative posts, just click here!

M is for MIRTH

It's raining today and I can see the trees across the street are turning colour. Soon the leaves will fall, the skies will be grey daily, and the wind will whistle through the empty branches. As I pondered what emotion to write about this week, my mind took me back to the summer when, on hot days, my grandchildren loved to go to the local water park, the beach, or even my backyard to run through the sprinkler. This brought me to the word MIRTH, meaning gaiety or amusement accompanied by laughter. What better feeling on which to meditate on a dull, rainy day in order to pull oneself out of the doldrums! Here is mirth:

MIRTH

Mirth is the red, orange, and yellow of sunshine.
It looks like foamy waves along the shoreline.
It sounds like children giggling at the seaside.
It smells like the salty vinegar of fish 'n chips.
It tastes like ice-cream with chocolate dips.
It feels like rib-tickling wrestling in the sand.
Mirth is music and merriment in a wonderland.

Thanks to Denise Nesbitt for her creativity in bringing ABC Wednesday to life several years ago. She and her merry band of misfits (moi included!) visit contributors each and every week to encourage, compliment, and rejoice in their efforts to entertain us all with their personal creativity. To join in or simply to savour the contribution of others, click here!

L is for LONGING

Longing is an emotion characterized by a strong feeling of desire. It's also the title of an unreleased Dusty Springfield album from 1974. I guess I'm dating myself with this, but I always loved her songs, full of passion and yearning. Here is my take on "longing" with this week's poem.

Longing

Longing is deep sapphire blue.

It looks like tender tears of dew.

It sounds like echoes of yesterday.

It smells like a Chinese food for one day.

It tastes like apple pie in the sky.

It feels like a mercenary magnet to iron.

Longing is unrequited desire.

And here is a taste of Dusty Springfield's unique style of longing in a song from 1967:

K is for KOOKINESS

I love acting kooky sometimes. In fact, I have been characterised as crazy, eccentric, funny, quirky, wacky, weird, and wild. However, I "do" know when it's the right time to be so, as well as the right time to be - well, in a serious mode. It's so much more fun, though, to be kooky!

KOOKINESS

Kookiness is a crazy sort of plaid.

It looks like a Scot's kilt gone bad.

It sounds like a bagpipe gone mad.

It smells like Burns' Day haggis.

It tastes like a ticklish all-over kiss.

It feels like end-of-the-day bliss.

Kookiness is absurd silliness.

ThanKs always to the krazy, kittenish Denise Nesbitt for her kreativity in starting up this weeKly ABC Wednesday kookiness! She and her ko-horts (moi inKcluded) will be over to checK up on your kontributions this weeK. They Kan be found here.

J is for JEALOUSY

Jealousy has often been referred to as the "green-eyed monster." I wondered where this saying originated so turned to the internet to find out. According to "The Phrase Finder," it was possibly coined by Shakespeare in his 1604 play Othello. In it, Iago says:

O beware, my lord, of jealousy;

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock

The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss

Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;

But, O, what damned minutes he tells he o'er

Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!"

Here's my take on jealousy:

JEALOUSY

Jealousy is a green that's hard to define.

It looks like terribly tangled vines.

It sounds like wallowing and whimpering whines.

It smells like a strange scent on his neckline.

It tastes like muddy paranoid pies.

It feels like razor blades when he tells his lies.

Jealousy is sin in others' eyes.

Jubilant and joyful thanks to Denise Nesbitt for starting ABC Wednesday, considering the fact that she's juggling so many things right now - renovating a kitchen is no mean feat! Thanks Denise! If you'd like to participate or peruse the contributions of others, just click HERE.

I is for INNOCENCE

Last week's poem about hatred was pretty powerful, so I decided to soften things up a bit for this week. What with the tenth anniversary of 9-11 and all the ceremonies and remembrances of that evil act, I would rather focus on something more gentle. Innocence can be defined as freedom from sin, moral wrong, or guilt through lack of knowledge of evil. Who among us can honestly say they are like that. In my opinion, the only innocents are children, those too young to be tainted by the sins of the world. Search your hearts...are you truly an innocent?

INNOCENCE

Innocence is baby blue and petal pink.
It looks like a coat of soft silver mink.
It sounds like the baa of a lamb in the crèche.
It smells like perfume, powdery fresh.
It tastes like cherry Jell-O eaten with glee.
It feels like the sting of a skinny skinned knee.
Innocence is childlike purity.

Thanks to Denise Nesbitt for her ingenuity in starting up ABC Wednesday several years ago. It has grown to such immense proportions that she has a team of investigators who assist her. They (We) also take turns writing the introduction to the ABCW Website. If you would like to take part, just go here and sign up!

PS: My photo taken this summer at Diefenbaker Park.

H is for HATRED

Like a volcano, hatred leaves nothing but destruction in its path. In my humble opinion, this sometimes ferocious emotion is absolutely useless. There is such a thing as "righteous anger," but I think most times, hatred comes from fear of other people - their race, their religion, their culture, and their belief systems. The result can be violence, destruction, and even war. I must admit to having feelings of hatred towards others at some times in my life due to some wrong I feel they have done to me. However, I'm glad I'm mature enough to realize that I have to leave it alone, let go, and move forward. If I don't, I'm the one who will suffer, not the person who caused the feeling in me to start with. Here's my poem about hatred.

HATRED

Hatred is firey orange and malevolent black.

It looks like dynamite for destruction.

It sounds like a volcano in the process of eruption.

It smells like rubber tires on a hot highway.

It tastes like peppers mixed with butts in an ashtray.

It feels like razor blades and hand grenades exploding on a roadway.

Hatred is a soul on fire and wanting to attack.

I am so happy to be a part of this ABC Wednesday team and honestly am grateful for Denise Nesbitt creating and hosting it. I had thought of doing a poem on something more positive, like "honesty," "happiness," or "humour," but I decided to shake things up a bit. Think about it...have you ever been on the receiving end of hatred? Have you ever felt hatred towards someone else? How does it feel to you?