THANKSGIVING & CHRISTMAS GREETINGS

It is the time of year that many become so busy trying to find the perfect gift for loved ones; attempting to figure out how they will pay for it and run at such a hectic pace that they miss the true meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

As I have grown older and become less active I find myself thinking about all the things I have to be thankful for and reflecting on the blessings of the past year. I have a wonderful caring wife, improved health, and had the opportunity for the first time in years to visit my oldest son and nieces and nephews back in Troy, New York where I was born and grew up.

The day before Thanksgiving I went to see my heart specialist. When I go for my checkups I take along poems that I've recently written which he and his wife enjoy reading. This time I took two of the poems I wrote after returning home from my trip along with my Christmas poem-letter. He asked me if I had written one for Thanksgiving. I told him I was planning to write one; which I did on Thanksgiving day.

I am attaching both my Thanksgiving and my Christmas poem letter. I hope they will encourage you to take a few moments from the hectic Christmas rat race and reflect upon the blessings in your life.

A SONG OF THANKSGIVING

A soft intermittent rain gently washes the faces of the few leaves remaining on the tree outside my window. Its work finished, small droplets glide from the edges of the leaves to the earth below. As the rain slows to a misty halt a breeze dries the moistened leaves and gently lifts them from the security of the branches allowing them to float blissfully to the ground. It twirls them in a mystical dance across the damp pavement and lets them rest against the rounded curb. Their journey is complete.

With their departure from the tree I can see more clearly through the naked branches, the unfurled flag fluttering in the breeze. A reminder of the price of peace we enjoy. A prelude to a day of Thanksgiving. Rejoice my soul; let me sing praises, not only to my God, but to his creation and his creatures. To those who so gallantly give their all that I might know the joy of freedom.

A song of Thanksgiving springs forth from my soul. The withered leaves of bygone trials gently slip away. The peace of God’s Spirit guides me to see the multitude of myriad benefits He bestows upon me, moment by moment.

Don E. Cunningham, Patriarch Octogenarian Poet ©11/27/08 213 words

PSALM 138

The Lord’s Goodness to the Faithful
A Psalm Of David.
I will praise You with my whole heart;  Before the gods I will sing praises to You. I will worship toward Your holy temple, And praise Your name For Your loving-kindness and Your truth;
For You have  magnified Your word above all Your name. In the day when I cried out, You answered me, And made me bold with strength in my soul.

All the kings of the earth shall praise You, O Lord, When they hear the words of Your mouth. Yes, they shall sing of the ways of the Lord, For great is the glory of the Lord. Though the Lord is on high, Yet  He regards the lowly; But the proud He knows from afar. Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You will revive me; You will stretch out Your hand against the wrath of my enemies, And Your right hand will save me. The Lord will perfect that which concerns me;

Your mercy, O Lord, endures forever; Do not forsake the works of Your hands.

My Christmas poem – letter has already been mailed to my family and friends. Some have been receiving Christmas letters from me for over 50 years. Sharon and I always wait with anticipation for the Christmas cards and letters we receive. They give us an update on how family and friends are doing. I hope some of you who visit my blog regularly will leave a comment on my blog letting me know how you are doing. My Christmas poem -- letter follows:

CHRISTMAS TIDINGS, 2008

The winter winds howled roundabout,
Greeting a brand new year.
I sat there in my old bathrobe,
Hooked to oxygen gear.

A grand New Year was beginning
But I was feeling blue.
Little energy to do much,
What lay in store God knew.

Xolair was doing its job well,
As I was soon to learn.
My health was starting to improve,
Day tank I soon would spurn.

Springtime came with fresh breath of air,
And I was feeling good.
I asked if I could travel home,
By fall Docs said I could.

But Sharon faced some health issues,
Fibro and shingles too.
Food allergies began to peak,
What could my poor gal do?

Then heartbreak hit in late April,
Brother Guy passed away,
I was titled a Patriarch,
I did not feel that way.

My poetry continued on.
So much to write about.
Of life, humor and politics,
I had to get it out.

In August to New Mexico,
Dear Mykie was to wed,
It was a very joyous trip,
The aisle she did tread.

Now we have a grandson in law,
An Irish lad named Quinn,
We pray them both the very best,
A blissful life to win.

I took an Amtrak train back east,
To visit family,
The fellowship with son was great,
Treated like royalty.

Nieces and Nephews gathered round,
To listen to my tales,
Stories of family’s bygone days,
I did them all regale.

To visit family and friends,
Was such a special treat.
The memories came flooding back,
Each one was very neat.

Now in the winter of my life,
Old friends have passed away.
I can rejoice in blessed hope,
Celebrate Christmas Day!

Sharon and I, blessed in our love,
Send words of Christmas cheer,
We pray for you the very best,
In the upcoming year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY 2009

HUGS, IN CHRIST’S AND OUR LOVE,

DON AND SHARON CUNNINGHAM

As each of us face difficulties in the coming year here is a good verse to meditate on:

James 1:12 Blessed is a man who perseveres under trial; for once he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him.

May the Love of Christ dwell in you richly. I pray you have a blessed Merry Christmas and that you will be "FINE IN 09"

HUGS, IN CHRIST'S AND MY LOVE,

Don E. Cunningham, Patriarch Octogenarian Poet copyright 11-30-2008

WHITE BIRCH

It was a clear autumn day as we drove up through the Adirondack Mountains toward Fort Ticonderoga. Many of the trees were displaying their beautiful fall colors. They stretched out like a multicolored blanket before us. They flowed like an un-ending River across the broad expanse of the Adirondacks.

Along the edge of the highway I saw massive slate walls that had been carved out to make way for this wide straight road. As we drove past them I caught glimpses of magnificent white birches growing out of the shear slate pallets of nature. To me it was an awesome sight. As my nephew drove along at highway speed I attempted to take photos of these wonders of creation.

As we approached clusters of them I asked Fred to slow down so I could get clearer pictures. It became a point of humor in the car. The laughter increased when I said, “There is a poem in those white birches growing out of the solid slate rock.”

The following week my nephew was driving me to visit a former secretary and her family now living in northern Vermont. Once again we saw the magnificent yellow leaved white birch growing out the slate rock. He laughingly slowed down so I could attempt to get blur free photos of the scene. It worked as can be seen by one of the photos shown below.

He thoroughly enjoyed my repeated comments about a poem being somewhere in the birch trees. During the remainder of my visit with them he would occasionally ask me if I had found the poem in the birch trees yet. I told him that when I got home I was sure I would find one.

Upon my return home I continued to mull over in my mind how I could find the poem in the birch tree. A few days ago I went on to the Internet and researched facts on several sites about birch trees and their many uses. Between the mulling over and the research the following poem was created.

WHITE BIRCH

While we traveled down the highway,
I saw a special tree,
It was growing out of slate rock,
Beautiful as could be.

Adorned in leaves of bright yellow,
With bark as white as snow.
It blessed me in a special way,
It had a wondrous glow.

I wondered how the seed got there,
How it began to sprout?
How in a small hole in a rock,
Its roots somehow spread out?

What nourished it and made it grow,
Why did it choose that spot?
While rich black earth lay by so near,
It chose a different lot.

A softer life it might have had,
With nourishment galore,
It chose a harder place to grow,
A plush life did ignore.

Within that tree Indians saw,
Much more than you and me.
The beauty of the white birch bark,
Was its utility.

They stripped the bark nine layers thick,
And turned it inside out.
Made a canoe and sealed it well,
On rivers got about.

Canoes were light and portable.
Carried through forest land,
Yet heavy loads were placed in them,
Their usage was well planned.

They built their wigwams with the bark,
They made them snug and tight,
Overlapped layers on the frame,
Were water proof all right.

Much more they saw in that white bark,
Conceived within their minds,
Made rattles, moose calls, containers
Of, oh, so many kinds.

They tapped the trees and drunk the sap,
And boiled it for tea,
It sweetened up their medicines,
As nice as they could be.

And if a famine came along,
Eat inner bark as meal.
When it is cold, burn it for fuel,
To make them warmer feel.

Oh, yes, white birch I see you there,
With branches all wide spread,
Your beauty and utility,
Brings history to my head.


Don E. Cunningham, Patriarch Octogenarian Poet
11/12/2008 654 words

HISTORY IN A DRAWER

For over 11 years, due to poor health, I was unable to travel back home to Troy, New York.

Over the last year and a half I have been receiving Xolair treatments for my severe allergic asthma. It worked so well with me that I was able to get off my daytime oxygen. This fall my doctors decided to allow me to take a train trip back to visit friends and relatives in Troy. It turned into a trip with a rainbow of blessings.

The first Saturday we were there, my niece, Elizabeth, and her family, with whom my son and I stayed, planned an open house for us. It turned into a time of fellowship and fun with nieces and nephews I had not seen for several years. One of the unexpected delights was everyone signing their names inside a desk drawer from our old Sunday school room at Millis Memorial Baptist Church. When we were growing up all of my siblings except one had signed our names or nicknames inside the drawer and dated them.

My nephew, Steve, bought the old desk from the church group now meeting there. He thought it would be fun to continue the family tradition and brought the drawer with him for the nieces and nephews to sign. It was fun to watch them as they signed their names next to a parent or grandparent. Some of the signatures go back three generations. My nephew will see the name of family members every time he opens his desk drawer. A little bit of family history will flash through his mind as he reads them.

Similar to the names in the drawer are the memories we file away in the desk drawers of our minds. While back home many of the memories from my youth flashed through my mind. My son, nieces, and nephews enjoyed listening to me share my reveries. What a blessing it was to visit many of the scenes of my youth. It was a delight to my soul to think of the events and the people who touched my life during my youth. Some of those memories already appear in my poetry. I feel certain many more will come to mind in poetic form through the rejuvenation I felt during my visit home.

Another major blessing during my stay was to visit my family's gravesite and to see the beautiful new headstone over my parents and little sister’s graves. After 68 years it is a joy to finally see them memorialized! I also learned that one of my nieces, Debby, has faithfully maintained our family plot for several years.

At my age it is fun to mingle pleasant memories from the past with the ones I accrue day by day in the present. What a large drawer full of blessed memories I have stored away in my heart and mind!

As the holidays are fast approaching I hope you'll take the time, before things become too hectic to meander through your special drawer of memories. I know during the holidays life can become weary, even depressing. If that is the case with you right now may I suggest, in those dark moments of the soul, it is a good time to reflect back on special blessings.

Hug, in Christ’s and my love,

Don E. Cunningham, Patriarch Octogenarian Poet 11/12/08 562