found a long lost friend! yey!

i've been enjoying our little chats

which have been 10 years overdue.

hope to hear from you a lot soon.

good luck with...everything!

it's a loverly, loverly spring!

Bum buttery, flit fluttery
Dum diddly-ooh
Bum Buttery, bluebird
Is singing a tune.

Daffy-down-dillies awaken
And prune
Bursting in bloom
All the flowers assume
It's a loverly, loverly spring.

Chit-chattery chipmunks
All singing along,
Humming their
Join-in-a-spring-along song.

Spring is the springiest time
For a song
It's a loverly, loverly spring.
In the forest we play
With the rabbits all day--

______________________________________

the result of watching
Wimbledon 2006 and
Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events
on the onset of winter.

think of me first as a person

by Rita Dranginis

You look at me with pity,
concern or indifference,
for I am a retarded child.
But you only see the outside of me.
If I could express myself,
I would tell you what I am inside.

I am very much like you.
I feel pain and hunger.
I cannot ask politely
for a glass of water, but I know
parched dry feeling of thirst.
I itch when mosquitoes bite me
and run when I see a bee.
I feel cozy drinking cocoa in the kitchen
when a snowstorm blusters outside.

I had a heaviness inside
when I left my mother
to board the minibus for school.
My eyes darted back and forth, seeking escape
but knowing there was none.
When my sister takes me to the playground
and children call me names,
she cries and takes me home.
Then I feel warm and dizzy,
and it is hard for me to breathe.
Mother's eyes are wet; she hold me and tells me a story, and
I forget the children's jeers.
When I dress myself and
Mother pats my head, saying, "Good job,
Jim!" I feel...big. As big as Greg,
who goes to second grade.

I am a child-
in age now, and in ability always.
I find the touch of soft toys
and snuggly dogs comforting.
I love the toys of childhood-
a kite, a balloon, a wagon to pull
I like to let go at the top of a slide
and after dizzy seconds find myself at the bottom.
I like sleds on soft snow,
the wetness of rain on my forehead.

Though it is comfortable to be babied,
I am less dependent
when people treat me as a big boy.
I don't want their sympathy.
I want their respect for what I can do.
I am slow, and many things
you take for granted are hard for me.
I can hardly understand
what "tomorrow" means.
It took months to learn
to pedal the tall blue tricycle,
but I was so proud when at last
both feet pedaled in the same direction
and the wheels went forward.
How happy I was
when I turned on the right faucet
to get a drink of water.
I didn't want to ever turn it off.
If I can learn at my own pace and still be accepted,
I can fit into a world where slowness is suspect.

Think of me first as a person,
who hurts and loves and feels joy.
And know I am a child to encourage and direct.
Smile, and say hello-
even that is enough.

dirty hands

by John P. Delaney S.J.

I'm proud of my dirty hands. Yes, they are dirty. And they are rough and knobby and calloused. And I'm proud of the dirt and the knobs and the callouses. I didn't get them that way by playing bridge or drinking afternoon tea out of dainty cups, or playing the well-advertised Good Samaritan at charity balls.

I got them that way by working with them, and I'm proud of the work and the dirt. Why shouldn't I feel proud od the work they do – these dirty hands of mine?

My hands are the hands of plumbers, of truckdrivers and street cleaners; of carpenters; engineers, machinists and workers in steel. They are not pretty hands, they are dirty and knobby and calloused. But they are strong hands, hands that make so much that the world must have or die.

Someday, I think, the world should go down on its knees and kiss all the dirty hands of the working world, as in the days long past, armored knights would kiss the hands of ladies fair. I'm proud of my dirty hands. The world has kissed such hands. The world will always kiss such hands. Men and women put reverent lips to the hands of Him who held the hammer and the saw and the plane. His weren't pretty hands either when they chopped trees, dragged rough lumber, and wielded carpenter's tools. They were workingman's hands – strong, capable proud hands. And weren't pretty hands when the executioners got through them. They were torn right clean through by ugly nails, and the blood was running from them, and the edges of the wounds were raw and dirty and swollen; and the joints were crooked and the fingers were horribly bent in a mute appeal for love.

They weren't pretty hands then, but, O God, they were beautiful – those hands of the Savior. I'm proud of those dirty hands, hands of my Savior, hands of God.

And I'm proud of my hands too, dirty hands, like the hands of my Savior, the Hands of my God!

hallelujah

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah

Maybe I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah

There was a time
You let me know
What's real and going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you?
The holy dark was moving to
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah
Maybe
there's
a god
above
And all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And it's not a cry you can hear at night,
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah


________________________________________________
rufus wainwright