WHISPERED PRAYERS

The seasons have their whispers;
the seasons have their prayers.

November has its moments;
November has its prayers.

The leaves have peaked. Pride
always comes before the fall.

Listen to the leaves – they make a lot
more noise than when they were alive.

It’s only time before they crumble.
Watch them as they do their death dance.

The trees stand tough. They just stiffen
their backs knowing there will be next Spring.

November brings me to the cemetery;
November brings me to thank my dead.

November brings me to my knees;

November makes me face my pride and fall.

The seasons have their whispers;
the seasons have their prayers.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

BUT WHO TOOK

THE PICTURE?

I sat there all alone, on a rock,
single and silent, up there
in the green hills, in a quiet spot,
overlooking trees, trees, Vermont,
in summer, high above the highway….
Slowly I heard voices coming up
a path, then around a curve, almost
to my spot. They were a couple.
It looked like they wanted to be alone,
but first they began taking pictures.

She snapped him. He snapped her.
Before leaving – getting on my way –

I asked them if I could picture them together.
And so she handed me her digital camera.
They smiled. They posed. They thanked me.
Then I continued on my journey
along the Long Trail, single and silent,
picturing myself all alone, large rocks,
large rocks and trees, trees, Vermont?

When they get home,

when they show their pictures,

will someone seeing them together ask,

"But who took the picture?"

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

DOORS

Doors: Opened? Closed?
When we describe
a closed door as “shut”
are we implying something
about the person inside?
What about a door
that is half or slightly
opened or closed?
Do we say to ourselves,
“It’s half closed” or “It’s half opened”
based on our take on the person inside?
I don’t know. Just now
I was wondering inside
the closed door of mind
as I stand here outside you,
“What’s the proper distance
for a door in a hospital room,
or in an office or in another’s eyes,
for another to know that you want
or don’t want me
to drop in and visit you?”

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

YOU HAVE TO KNOW

THE TERRITORY

Sitting, just relaxing, just doing nothing,
on a porch, on a Sunday afternoon,
being all alone with the All Alone….

Right now, it’s quiet on this quiet street.

I’m gazing at miles of faded blue sky.

I begin to watch a small sparrow mirroring me,
on a branch, on a Sunday afternoon,
being all alone with the All Alone….

He or she is also looking at miles
of faded blue sky – just enjoying the quiet.

Suddenly ….

The interruption – the change….

It’s always something – isn’t it?

Out of nowhere, a blackbird screams
and dives right at the sparrow’s branch –
who darts away into November nothingness.

I’m thinking: that black bird
had a hundred trees to perch and rest on,
Why did he pick the sparrow and his branch?

I’m thinking: why do dogs disturb cats
on Sunday afternoons? Why do brothers
or sisters disturb their brothers or sisters?


Why do nations scream and dive right
into other nations' land hoping that they
disappear into November nothingness?

Suddenly ….

Interruption – change ….

It’s always something – isn’t it?

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

DOES WATER

EVER COMPLAIN?

When you’re that strong, that present,
that necessary, when you’re
most of the planet
and most of the human body,
when there is so much of you,
does water ever complain?

When you’re lakes, ponds, rivers, seas,
oceans, mists, ice cubes, rain, snow,
drizzle, streams, steam, polar caps,
glaziers or inside all those pipes,
reservoirs and water towers,
does water ever complain?

When you know you appear in so many
different sizes, shapes and forms,
when you know you’re can be bigger
than countries and continents or can be
small like a drop of dew on a rose,
does water ever complain?

When you’re spinning around in
hurricanes and storms, pounding
beaches and boats, shaking and
shifting, wave after wave after wave,
or you’re just sitting in a tub,
does water ever complain?

When you’re polluted, left to stagnate,
when you discolored, poisoned or contaminated
with toxins and a mishmash of run off,
when you’re wasted, ignored or go unnoticed,
when those who speak up for you are ridiculed,
does water ever complain?

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009

PLAYING FOR PENNIES

The honeymoon was over – 5 days and 4 nights in the Poconos – May, 1950.

It was maybe 4 months after that – roughly 2 years before they got their first TV – sometime in 1952 – when he asked her – one evening around 7 P.M. – “Did you ever play cards growing up?”

The question had never come up while they were dating or engaged.

She said, “All the time. Why? Do you want to play cards?”

He said, “Yeah. I was thinking while coming home from work this afternoon that it might be fun if the two of us played cards. Our family, especially my mom, always loved playing Hearts – especially in the winter months – when nights got darker earlier.”

And so they started playing cards: pinochle. For the first two months it was just for fun. However, at a family get together, he was bragging to her sister that her sister was not too good when she was playing cards with him – that he won almost every game.

She heard the comment. She said nothing. She knew it was a blatant masculine bragging lie.

The next night out came a small, black, leather purse – with about 35 pennies in it.

He said, “What’s that?”

Then she made her public announcement. “From now on hon, we’re playing for pennies. A penny a hand. It’s a great way of keeping score – and when my sister comes over – she’ll be able to see how I beat you most of the time.”

And that’s what they did for the next bunch of years – a penny a hand.

Ooops! Then there were the saucers – tea cup saucers – one with blue trim – his saucer – and one with dark red trim – her saucer. And the pennies were to be kept in the each one’s saucer – no adding – no cheating – no sneaking from the other person’s plate – when the other person wasn’t looking. It was to be their scoreboard – and the honor system was to be followed.

One year there – they switched to 2 cents – somewhere around 1959 or 1960 when he got this great promotion.

Around 1962 she had a run of victories that made her red trimmed plate full. That’s when they skipped to glass Skippy Peanut Butter jars – with the blue screw on caps – with ballpoint pen “HIS” and “HER” scratched on the tops. It was before Sharpie Pens. She filled three full empty peanut butter jars and it was killing him.

Oh, and he never stole from her plate or jar – even when her sister came over and busted him for not being that great a pinochle player as advertised. His wife said nothing. She let her three jars speak for themselves.

Their kids – their 4 kids – when they were little, couldn’t reach the peanut butter jars – and steal or play with the pennies. When they were older the jars went up on top of a best china cabinet – and seeing their parents laughing and talking about life and them – while playing cards night after night after night and night – they knew you don’t mess with the scoreboards – mom and dad’s penny jars – HIS and HER penny jars – in fact either of them would know immediately if someone stole some pennies.

Without saying a word, each kept his or her eye on what the current score was. He’d have a run. She’d have a run. The most one of them was ahead of the other was in 1984 when she had 8 full Skippy Peanut Butter jars – filled with pennies.

Somewhere along the line they switched the playing field from the kitchen table to the dining room table.

And they played most evenings – all through their marriage. There were maybe 7 times they had a good fight – and there was no game that night – but they didn’t keep score on that – just the card games. In fact, each time, wanting to play cards would end the silent anger or frustration – one had with the other.

One Sunday at Mass the story in the gospel was the story of widow who put her two cents in the poor box – and nobody noticed it – except Jesus – who said she put in more than all the rest – because she gave from her want and they gave from their extra. She gave all that she had. They gave what they gave to be seen by everyone.

That Sunday evening when they were playing cards, they talked about that gospel story. The sermon was a blank. They ended up with a saying and a laugh between each other. After a victory, pointing to their jar, they would say, “Put your two cents into my poor box.”

That Wednesday night – just after that Sunday evening – when they sat down to play cards, her 6 jars were empty. 6 full jars was the current score and she was ahead – way ahead. It killed him when he would walk into the house and go through the dining room and notice those full jars of pennies up there on the top of the china cabinet.

Taking the rubber band off the cards, pointing to her empty jars on the top of the fine china cabinet, and the empty one next to her at the table, he asked, “What happened? What happened to your pennies?”

She said, “I was thinking that my sister is coming over Saturday and she’ll go right to the pennies – and see how much I’m killing you, so to save you embarrassment, I decided to get rid of them.”

“What? Are you crazy? If I was ahead – I would never do that.”

“Well, hon, that’s the difference between men and women – every time.”

“No,” he said, “You’re far more competitive than anyone I know.”

And she said, “I know. I’m just kidding. I was thinking of last Sunday’s gospel about the poor widow who put her 2 cents into the poor box – and nobody noticed it but Jesus. So this afternoon I went up to church when nobody was in there and put all those pennies I took from you and put them in the 4 poor boxes in our church.”

“You’re kidding?” he said. “You’re kidding?”

And she said, “Nope, I’m not kidding, Now put your 2 cents on the table and cut the cards – so I can start filling my jars again.”

And so they played on and on and on – all through their marriage.

Their kids saw this as a beautiful background for their parents married life together.

TV – then video games – then computer games – especially Solitaire would dominate their kids’ play life. However, one of their 4 kids has been playing cards with his wife – 23 years of their marriage now – but they use note pads instead of jars to keep score.

And before I forget, they gave each of their 4 kids a brand new deck of cards and 2 full jars of Skippy Peanut Butter for a wedding present. And one more thing – a bunch of years ago they switched from glass to plastic peanut butter jars – because she dropped a glass jar, one evening while bringing her full jar, from the top of the cabinet to the dining room table where they played their games.

In 2004 and 2005 – during his cancer and then his death – they played pinochle every afternoon – 2 pennies a game. He got ahead – and almost had 2 full jars of pennies – when he died. The 2 Skippy Peanut Butter jars filled with pennies went into his open casket – along with a deck of cards and his rosary and two Army pins – and when folks asked her at the funeral parlor, “What’s with the pennies in the Skippy Jars?” she would tell them it was their way of keeping score who was ahead in their card games and they had been playing cards now all through their 55 years of marriage. They she sort of stepped back from the casket – as if he was listening and added, “but as he was dying these past few months, I let him win most of the time – because I wanted him to be ahead when he died.”

She didn’t lie. It wasn’t a blatant female caring lie. She let him win.

She thought it would make a good story.

It was her way of putting her 2 cents in.




Instead of a homily for this 32 Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B, last night I decided to write a story. I find stories easier than a homily, especially when my brain is dead and the readings have some tought stuff in them - that call for lots of reading and research - like today's second reading from Hebrews 9: 24-28. The word "jar" in today's first reading [1st Book of Kings 17: 10-16] and the words "two small coins" in today's gospel [Mark 12:38-44] - from which the phrase, "putting in my two cents" comes, triggered this story.

THE CEMETERY IN OUR SOUL*

Cemetery stones are all together
in the dark green cemetery
in our soul – our dead.

The soul can move graves around

and put them all together – our dead.

Our stone strong memories do this.

And as we walk around the clumpy,
sometimes soggy soil, we stop
at each stone. We remember
the person buried there.
We cry. We smile. We pray.
We feel the specific of each one
we knew and loved: spouse,
mom, dad, brother, sister,
son, daughter, nephew, niece
grandparent, friend ….

And the older we get,
the longer the list, the more

the stones, the bigger
the cemetery in our soul.

And someday we will be remembered
by those whose souls we inhabited
while we lived, and now as dead.

And for those with faith, Jesus –
the Risen One – is also here,
ready to embraces us in the garden,
in the cemetery, in our soul.
We cling to Jesus for a moment.
He isn’t the gardener. He is
Resurrection and New Life.
Then he tells us, he has to move on,
we have to move on. ** We don’t.
We linger. We celebrate.

What would life be like if we didn’t have
those we loved, buried here, all together,
in the cemetery of our souls?

* A reflection for All Soul's Day, 2009

** Cf. John 20:11-18

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009