It’s Thanksgiving and I wish I could be a kid again.

It’s Thanksgiving and I woke this morning thinking about my Grandma.  Sometimes it’s hard to find the spirit of the holidays when you have lost your center—the center of your family—your mother, your grandmother, your heart.

Growing up, holidays were about going to Grandma’s house.  They were the best days of the year.  Your little heart was so filled with such gladness as you dressed in your new clothes, anxious to get to Grandma’s.

Is there anything better than walking into a small house filled with people who love you?  Oh, the smells…turkey, ham, and pie (with cool-whip.)  My Gram would make lemon and orange meringue pie with really high peaks.  The adults would sit around the big table and munch on mixed nuts and chocolates, while us kids would sit on the stairs and talk about who knows what.

My Gram has been gone 20 years now and I lost my Mammaw this past spring.  It’s hard not to think of them today, but I am so lucky to have my Mother and Father with me.  They have always been my center and I am truly blessed.


My reactions to death are never the same and completely unpredictable

I felt a little foolish posting last night that I cried because Steve Jobs had died.  Actually, I cried when I read what he had written about living life, about letting go of the past, envisioning the future and to not be afraid if you couldn’t see it clearly.  I knew he was a visionary, introducing the masses to things we never knew we even needed.  How much happier are we when we can take a break, put in our earbuds and listen to our favorite tunes?  We can go to iTunes and for a dollar, download Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” and be instantly transported back to Junior Prom in 1988.  To watch my Dad’s face when I played “House of the Rising Sun” for him; seeing his expression change as the memories swirled–he was remembering when this song came out.  He said, “1964.  I was 18 years old and I remember listening to this when I worked at the gas station.”  Then he surprised me by singing along. He knew the words.  He was amazed that with a few clicks, I could get any song.  Now.  Steve Jobs made that happen. Continue reading

Is Ignorance Bliss?

When I first saw the title of this article, my first reaction what that “Yes, sometimes it is bliss.”  The writer asking the question in a Psychology Today article had seen this bumper sticker and at first agreed, then started thinking more about it.

In my younger years, I felt the need to know everything about anything.  With the advent of the internet, news and information came at us in droves and I, like most, couldn’t get enough of it.  I would spend hours trolling around this new resource, drawn in by its allure.

Here we are 15 years later with information filling our every waking moment–we barely have time to sit still and just think.  I can’t help but wonder if this has contributed to the harried, stressed-out nature of people today.  Do we really need to know about every murder, every case of child abuse, starvation, or each minute of the rollercoaster we call Wall Street?

Maybe ignorance is bliss.

Poem: Your Own Worst Nightmare

I had the most horrendous headache yesterday, caused by clenching my jaw (TMJ) while sleeping. While trying to ignore the pain last night, I was reminded of a time I awoke with intense pain in my jaw.  I had taken some pain reliever and while waiting for relief, I started composing lines in my head.  After a few minutes, I forced myself to get up and write down what I had ‘written.’  It’s not
perfect, but it really relates to how I was feeling at the time.  Feel free to send comments or suggestions.

Your Own Worst Nightmare

Heinous laughter escapes as she wrestles her nemesis,
pulling at his cartoonish face and hair, promising impending doom.
Bolts of pain spike to the brain, sending eyelids fluttering.
Stumbling from the warmth, flailing hands search frantically for relief.
Slowly it trickles into the blood, sending instructions up the chain.

Tiny cracks appear gradually, bringing acute discomfort with them.
The old is chipped away creating a nice sturdy foundation for the new.
The perfect porcelain replica assumes its position in the row,
masking signs of previous damage from increased stress.
Relief trickles into the blood, sending signals of hope to the brain.

The hammer strikes steel, sending mandibular tension to the top.
The pretty new one holds firm, barring any chance of fracture.
The root remains hidden, resentful of the new it must bolster.
Slowly over time the old shows itself, lest it be forgotten.
Panic trickles into the blood, pleadings for liberation in vain.

© Liza Bennett

All Rights Reserved

Poem: “Echoes”

Several years ago I discovered that I could indeed write.  I would ask myself what others have asked, “Is this poetry?”  I discovered that I had a lot to say, with all those musings constantly filling my thoughts.  As I studied the writing craft, I found myself searching for new ways, usually through metaphor, to convey what I was feeling in a way that the reader would not know my intention.  Continue reading

Poem: “My True Love Hath My Heart and I Have His”

“My True Love Hath My Heart and I Have His”

My true love hath my heart and I have his,
……By just exchange one for another given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
……There never was a better bargain driven.
……….My true love has my heart and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
……My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
……I cherish his, because in me it bides.
……….My true love hath my heart and I have his.

—Philip Sidney