“I” is for I Will: A Long Story Shortened (Fiction)

I Will

Who knows how long I’ve loved you, you know I always will.

Shall I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to, I will.

For if I ever met you, I didn’t catch your name;

But it never really mattered, I will love you still the same.

Love you forever and forever, love you with all my heart;

love you whenever we’re together; love you when we’re apart.

And when at last I find you, your song will fill the air;

Sing it loud so I can hear you. Make it easy to be near you.

For the things you do endear you to me, Oh you know, I will. I will.

(Lennon, McCartney; permission pending.)

The regular members of the grief support group watched on in silence as the frail old woman hobbled to the podium. Although it was obvious from the vast network of wrinkles lining her face that she couldn’t possibly be a day under 85, the thick, curly, snow-white waist-length ponytail and bright blue eyes lent a certain vestige of youthfulness to the woman’s appearance. After tentatively reaching out to adjust the mike, she dabbed at a tear that threatened to stray down her wizened cheek.

“Hello, my name is Melody McDonald and I’m here because a friend of mine suggested that I come and share my story with you. It’s a very long story, but I will try to keep it short; time is running out, and the story needs to be told.

“I’d always thought that the term «falling in love» was odd, because I’d always envisioned it as a raising of the spirit, an enlightenment of the heart. And so it was rather ironic that day at the airport; I wasn’t paying much attention where I was going as I walked towards the customs area. The loudspeaker must not have been working very well, and I was straining to hear the sweet melody with the slightly Irish lilt to it when I ran right into a very tall man with the most delicious twinkly blue eyes. I fell at his feet, as he did mine, and when he offered his hand to help me back to my feet, I KNEW I had fallen in love. And, do you know what? So had he.

“Shortly thereafter, he moved into my apartment. Never had I been so happy as I was in the time we were together; we were so much alike in so many things. Can you believe that in the five years we were together I could count the times we quarreled on one hand? It’s true! We loved the same music, our political views were the same and, quite ironically, we even had the same degree in the same subject.

“And he was so sweet. He’d come in while I was working at my desk and just come over and give me a hug, then stay for a bit of conversation. He loved to talk, and talk, and talk… And when we watched TV in the evening, we often had no idea what was going on because of the stimulating conversation. Boring? Never! Conversation interspersed with music: unbeatable!

“And then…he died. He just left: one moment he was there and the next, he wasn’t. Only five years instead of the lifetime I had envisioned, with the two of us growing old together. I was sixty-one, and that was thirty-eight years ago.” The old one woman stifled a sob before continuing, “At times, the pain of his loss is unbearable; I try to put on a brave face, but I miss him…” She stopped as the sweet strains of a lilting, Irish sounding melody filled the air. The people rushing to the podium stopped abruptly as Ms. McDonald fell at the feet of a tall, slim man with twinkly blue eyes.

 

© “I” is for I Will, a Long Story Shortened, 2014 Mary Purpari

“H” is for Helping Hands

“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God. (Mosiah 2:17)

If any of you has ever been involved in, or witnessed, some kind of disaster area during the past several decades, chances are you’ve also seen a group of people wearing bright yellow tee-shirts or jerseys with green hands depicted on them, among the first responders. Although rarely brought to the notice of the general public, these people are part of an international group of volunteers known as “Helping Hands” and are almost always there to give help to those who need it.

Helping Hands functions as part of the Humanitarian Services of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (also known as the Mormons) and is composed mainly of members of the Church, although members of other groups have been know to aggregate themselves with the group, also wearing the typical yellow tee-shirts. The “helping hands” that you will usually meet are generally from the area in which they serve, which is why they are usually on the spot so quickly.

Helping Hands is present in Latin America, Asia, North America, Europe, Africa and the Pacific Islands and have been involved in helping clean up after earthquakes, tornadoes, floods and hurricanes. Quite often, those who have been hit are among the first to arrive, ready to lend a helping hand to the others in need. I remember when Sandy hit in 2012 that one of my friends lost everything she owned in the flooding caused by the super-storm, and yet, when volunteers were gathering to go to various of the other areas hit in New York City and New Jersey, she was one of the first in line wearing a bright yellow tee-shirt.

Helping Hands is not, however, dedicated to disaster areas. They have helped clean up public parks and woods, helped distribute food among the poor, donated blood at blood drives. When I was living in Italy, Helping Hands in the Palermo district worked together with the UNICEF; we made rag dolls – a project instigated by UNICEF – whose sales helped provide vaccinations for children in third world countries. I personally made four, and enjoyed every minute.

 

 

Picture, center right: helping hands removing trees after Hurricane Katrina. LDS

Picture, above right: Immunizations in Haiti. LDS

© “H” is for Helping Hands, Mary Purpari 2014.

“G” is for The “Green Man”

With this blog, I would like to introduce you to another of Russ Kelly’s poems, the Green Man. The green man is a mythological being, prevalent in the British Isles, who represents nature. Very often, in Pagan rites, he is represented by a young man completely adorned in greenery, as Russ has described below in his poem. The theme of the green man has been used repeatedly in architecture and other types of art forms, as well as literature through the ages. And now, I present to you the Green Man, by Russ Kelly.                                        

 THE GREEN MAN

Down by the sea, the thundering sea

where the river is flowing, its waters to end,

there stands an oak, a venerable tree

with branches that drop to the water and send

its leaves to the ocean, and leaves to the wind.

 

A leaf in the wind. Its memory brings

The wicker and mistletoe back to the tree-

A golden sickle, a man who sings

A prayer to the gods, a bright panoply

To flames that are burning, and burning below.

 

And above is the Green Man,

and below is the Green Man,

all round is the Green Man,

laughing, and dancing…

 

Dance by the tree, the Maypole Tree,

dance with the Green Man, a circle to make,

on Midsummer’s Night, or All Hallows Eve,

dance in the forests and valleys and take

the Man by his arm, the branch by its leaves…

 

And the branch is the Green Man,

and the oak is the Green Man,

all round is the Green Man,

laughing, and dancing…

© 2014 by Mary Purpari and Russ Kelly

“F” is for Facebook Friends and Family: a Modernized Parable

This is a modernized retelling of the parable of the good Samaritan. Note that I wanted to use person instead of man, but it was so repetitive as to be spammy.

Once upon a time (not too long ago) there was a man who had a huge, wonderful family and many, many friends, whom he knew personally and loved. One day, the man found Facebook, and discovered that he could keep close contact with his family and friends, which filled the man’s heart with with joy; he lived in a city far from all of them and in this manner, he was updated daily on their comings and goings. Soon, he began to add new friends to his friends list – friends he had never met but who seemed to be supportive and affectionate – and he began looking forward to reading their posts and their comments on his posts.

One day, the most unexpected tragedy overcame him: his beloved companion came down with pneumonia, and after much suffering, died. The man was disconsolate, his heart broken by the sudden loss of his dearest friend; upon hearing the tragic news, his family and friends, both actual as well as virtual, sent their condolences and love, support and commiseration, for his companion was also well-loved by many of the same people.

However, the support of one family member was particularly notable for its lack. In fact, when the man’s Facebook friends and family began to give compliments to the man for his strength and courage, the family member lashed out at the man, criticizing him for considering the words of his Facebook family more important than his real family (not realizing that many of the people giving comfort and advice were actual family members).  And behold, this lack of understanding served only to deepen the man’s sadness and depression.

And then, as the man sank deeper in grieving for his loss, a wondrous thing took place. Because of the death of this man’s companion, he was left with grievous financial difficulties and was even faced with the possibility of having to leave the home the two of them had shared for all the time they were together, the place where there were so many happy memories. But, behold: those very people, the “despised” virtual family and friends, silently got together and took up a collection and gave a goodly sum to the man so that he would be able to stay a little longer in the home where the two of them had been so happy.

And now, I ask of you, who was indeed this man’s family?

© 2014 Mary Purpari

“E” is for Easter 1960

This is a brief extract from the first chapter of my book Old McDonald Had a Funny Farm. Life was so fun and so simple back then…

Fifteen minutes later, Ross and Honey packed the kids into the car and headed off to Newport Beach for the church services. All four children walked demurely near their parents as they entered the church, which was beautifully decorated with pots of snow-white Easter lilies and bright yellow daffodils, just like the ones growing beside the McDonalds’ driveway. After the Sunday School lessons, Honey accompanied Melody to the choir room, and then joined the others in the front row of the chapel. Groups of people, in brightly colored clothing that vied with the beautiful sun-brightened stained glass windows illuminating the chapel walls, streamed through the doors toward the welcoming pews. Waves of joyous organ music accompanied the festive throngs. Feelings of hope and thanksgiving hung on the air with comforting warmth. It was a day for celebrating the resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ. The adult choir stood, divided, in the external aisles of the chapel, and began to sing the triumphal Easter hymn:

 

“Christ the Lord is ris’n today

Alleluia.

Sons of men and angels say

Alleluia.

Raise your joys and triumphs high

Alleluia.

Sing, ye heav’ns and earth reply,

Alleluia.”

 

It was so beautiful sitting between the two choirs as the voices echoed back and forth, and the triumph of the Lord rang in the congregation’s hearts. After the Pastor’s sermon, the children’s choir, seated behind the pastor, rose to sing, clutching battery lit candles in their hands. Melody was both excited and nervous at the same time and she fought to stand up straight as her knees wobbled and threatened to collapse from the emotion. She was singing in the choir for the first time, and it was wonderful, but what if she sang a wrong note there in front of everyone: she would die. But no, there was her family sitting there in the front row and she knew that everything would be alright. Mrs. Jarvis lifted her arms and began to lead the very young singers:

 

“When Israel was in Egypt’s land,

Let my people go.

Oppressed so bad they could not stand

Let my people go.

Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt’s land

Tell old Pharaoh, Let my people go.”

 

Melody’s heart began to slow down. She had done it; she had sung the right words in the right rhythm on the right notes. It was wonderful singing in a choir and the congregation’s reaction made her feel like she could fly like an angel. At the end of the last service, as she and the other fifteen boys and girls of the junior choir walked in double file down the center aisle of the chapel with their candles shining brightly, the pastor loosed a cloud of snow-white doves. Just as the young choir members were leaving the chapel to take off their choir robes, one of the doves left its circling companions and settled on Melody’s shoulder. She wasn’t surprised—lots of birds landed on Melody’s shoulder (though not those pesky mocking-birds)—but this bird just heightened her feeling of peace and joy. Wanting to share this feeling, she turned around to search for her family in the midst of the festive crowd. Suddenly, she felt a hand clasp her other shoulder. Turning around, she came face to face with Grammy Jenkins. “I see you’ve found a new friend, Mickey.”

The dove flew off to join his fellows as Melody and her grandmother hugged each other.

“Grammy, you came to hear me sing. What a neat song, huh? Where’s Grampa? Is he here?

Are you coming to our house for lunch?”

“Oh, slow down; one question at a time. Yes, dear, the song was wonderful. Grampa is at work. You know the police have to work sometimes on holidays, unfortunately even on Easter. There are many more people here at Easter-time, you know. He’ll try to come later on, when he finishes his shift. Yes, I am coming to lunch and also to the Easter egg hunt. Then, if Grampa doesn’t make it in time, your Grandmother Mary will take me home.”

“Are you coming home with us in our car? Oh, please, Grammy. You can sit in back with me.”

excerpt from “Old McDonald Had A Funny Farm” © 2009 Mary Purpari

“D” is for the “Dream”

Today’s letter, D, is brought to you by my dearest friend, Russ Kelly R.I.P. He was a talented poet, and had planned on publishing his poems, accompanied by paintings done by another dear friend, but unfortunately his dream was thwarted by his untimely death. I would like to share this poem with you, in his honor, because I’d like for him to receive the recognition he deserves. He wrote this poem in 1971, when he was just 22 years old.

The Dream

I had a dream the other night

and dreamt of many things

I wenched with mighty emperors

and supped with splendored kings

and soared across the universe

with wide ensorcered eyes

to touch pulsating fabrics

of many fabled skies.

 

I flew on mythic Hippogryphs

across the galaxy

and soared through skies as yet unknown

with my eyes to see

the building of the Pyramids

and found Mycenaean Greece

and sailed with mighty Jason

as he sought the Golden Fleece.

 

I slew the Nemeian Lion

and Medusa of serpent hair

and sought out ancient Babylon

with hanging gardens fair.

I journeyed on with Prestor John

Searched for all that’s dead and gone

Mystic flower, ancient tower

all these things were in my power

but all these wondrous sights to see

meant but little else to me.

 

I went down deeper in my dreams

to find the magic key

that would unlock the deepest door

and solve this mystery

this mystery of longing and of turning

and of tears

and of learning and of burning

and of fears…

 

But lo! And then I found it

the key into the door

beyond whose portals I would find

what I’d been searching for

 

I found the hidden temple

the entrance in the floor

went down many flights of steps

that led me to the door.

 

I put the key into the lock

it opened, and I found

(the writing on the wall told me

wither I was bound).

 

For I stood in the hall of the Gods of Dream

and saw before my eyes

the great, inspiring Asawot

the god of seas, and skies…

 

“Come hither:, he boomed,”Unbidden guest”

“You are at the ending of your quest”.

 

I told him of my longing

and in answer to my dreams

he looked at me and smiled and said:

“Strange though it seems

you are a godlike mortal

to have surmounted slumber’s peaks

to the Golden Castle of the Gods

that no sane mortal seeks

 

you ask me of fulfillment

and in answer to your plea

I say, be gone! Oh, foolish one

that would ask such things of me

 

For I am great and mighty

and not of such maudlin cast

that I would give you answers

to such questions that you ask

 

Be gone! And find your answers

by the light of breaking day

search not in dreams

but while you wake

it is the better way”.

 

And Asawot boomed at me

“That is all I have to say”!

 

But as I turned and ran in panic

Quickly from the room

I heard him sigh,

and touch the sky

heard him softly boom:

 

“For immortal being I may be

There are other Gods than me

The greatest is reality…”

 

©2014 Mary Purpari and Russ Kelly

“C” is for Challenges

Right now, hundreds of bloggers from around the world, myself included, are involved in a month-long blogging challenge which involves writing twenty-six blogs in twenty-six days, one day for each letter of the alphabet. I’m really excited about it this year; I meant to register last year, but forgot until it was too late. I tried to do it unofficially, but life had a tendency to get in the way, so I wasn’t very regular in my writing. this year, though, I’m more organized and come what may, I’m determined to get through this challenge.

Another one of the activities that I enjoy doing (but haven’t had a lot of time for, unfortunately) is quilting. Quilting groups also have challenges, several of which I have enjoyed participating in. I never won a prize, but I did improve my techniques. There are also a number of jewelry challenges in which I might participate someday.

The above mentioned challenges are created to entice us to improve ourselves and to have fun while doing it. They also encourage us to learn how to do new things. A year ago, although I had already had quite a bit of writing experience, from writing my own book (which was a challenge in itself, with all the obstacles put in my way) to writing for an online magazine (also a challenge), I was a completely inexperienced blogger, so of course, I learned new things and greatly improved (at least, I hope) that ability.

Everyday, though, life brings all of us new challenges, giving us the chance to grow and to improve ourselves. If we don’t quite meet the challenge, this in itself should encourage us to try harder and to improve so that next time we will be able to do a better job.

I was born with only one fully developed hand, which is quite a challenge in itself, especially if you consider that I was born left-handed with very little use of my left hand. I was a very determined child, however, and with the greatest mother a child in my position could desire, I was truly not allowed to rest on what you could call a good excuse to not try, to give up. I was also very stubborn and when someone said “You can’t do that; you only have one hand…” that was the biggest challenge anyone could hand me, and there I would go. A lot of the stuff I did then, like climb trees, play tetherball, switch hit in baseball, play volleyball, play the trumpet, knit, crochet and quilt, were all the result of being told I couldn’t do them. (I guess I showed them! )

Today, I’m facing other, equally difficult challenges. Since my dearest friend died in December just getting up to face a new day is a challenge. As I lay in bed I sometimes ask myself, “Why bother? There’s nobody there who cares what you do, so just stay where you are…” Then, I hear Mr. Cardinal singing his beautiful song and I look up to see if I can find him, and behold! there is that silly little black feral cat doing her gymnastics routine next to my American flag in the window outdoors (she earns her keep by entertaining me) and I know there is a reason to get up, and once again that daily challenge is overcome. And I’m getting a little better everyday.

And of course, if I don’t get up, how can I meet the A-Z Blogging Challenge?

 

©2014 Mary Purpari