Killer squirrels and other sober drams

September 14

KILLER SQUIRRELS AND OTHER SOBER DRAMA

I can tell you stories to make your hair curl: death-defying fifth steps, speaking commitments with microphoned podiums, sponsees with killer squirrels trapped in the house.  Courage and sheer determination are needed to face plague, after crisis, after pestilence, and yet with sober mind and willing heart these travails are surmounted and we live on.  Tears turn to laughter with rescue and remedy.  How strong we feel as the cape is passed, when the one-time panic prone sponsee becomes the model of calm and stable sponsor.  Hoards of relatives at holidays and interactions with bankers, police officers and all manner of people in shiny shoes are handled with grace and boundaries.  Porch loving skunks, children becoming teenagers are faced with humor and wit.  Things, which in years gone by would have sent us screaming to the phone, are now casual asides during after-meeting discussion.  Life does keep on spinning but we learn how to stand still.

Spend a day on a lily pad.

*

Heartfelt

Boab trees litter my dreams;

gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun,

I wonder at the tales they tell though

I am far too young to understand.

The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life;

they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind.

Coming to age seems merely a step

when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life.

Too long drought, too deep rain,

are places I can pick my face up from,

stand my ground or be on my way.

The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams

and I will return to my life.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Heartfelt

September 14

Heartfelt

Boab trees litter my dreams; gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun, I wonder at the tales they tell though I am far too young to understand.  The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life; they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind.  Coming to age seems merely a step when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life.  Too long drought, too deep rain, are places I can pick my face up from, stand my ground or be on my way.  The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams and I will return to my life.

Chime in

*

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days

And I have trouble finding my way home to hope.

Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk.

Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail.

I am lost.

Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention.

I wander deeper into a dismal wood.

How can I chop my way free?

Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance.

I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky

Skepticism passes like storm clouds.

I may feel the rain for a time.

Necessity reigns on both sides of every street

But still I can crawl into my bed

Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Killer Squirrels and Other Sober Drama

September 14

KILLER SQUIRRELS AND OTHER SOBER DRAMA

I can tell you stories to make your hair curl: death-defying fifth steps, speaking commitments with microphoned podiums, sponsees with killer squirrels trapped in the house.  Courage and sheer determination are needed to face plague, after crisis, after pestilence, and yet with sober mind and willing heart these travails are surmounted and we live on.  Tears turn to laughter with rescue and remedy.  How strong we feel as the cape is passed, when the one-time panic prone sponsee becomes the model of calm and stable sponsor.  Hoards of relatives at holidays and interactions with bankers, police officers and all manner of people in shiny shoes are handled with grace and boundaries.  Porch loving skunks, children becoming teenagers are faced with humor and wit.  Things, which in years gone by would have sent us screaming to the phone, are now casual asides during after-meeting discussion.  Life does keep on spinning but we learn how to stand still.

Spend a day on a lily pad.

*

Heartfelt

Boab trees litter my dreams;

gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun,

I wonder at the tales they tell though

I am far too young to understand.

The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life;

they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind.

Coming to age seems merely a step

when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life.

Too long drought, too deep rain,

are places I can pick my face up from,

stand my ground or be on my way.

The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams

and I will return to my life.

Heartfelt

September 14

Heartfelt

Boab trees litter my dreams; gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun, I wonder at the tales they tell though I am far too young to understand. The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life; they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind. Coming to age seems merely a step when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life. Too long drought, too deep rain, are places I can pick my face up from, stand my ground or be on my way. The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams and I will return to my life.

Chime in

*

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days

And I have trouble finding my way home to hope.

Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk.

Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail.

I am lost.

Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention.

I wander deeper into a dismal wood.

How can I chop my way free?

Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance.

I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky

Skepticism passes like storm clouds.

I may feel the rain for a time.

Necessity reigns on both sides of every street

But still I can crawl into my bed

Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.