The Claddagh and Sweet Valentines

     

The Claddagh: Irish Symbol of Abiding Love

By Irish legend, it was the 1690s in Claddagh, a small fishing village in county Galway, Ireland. A man named Richard Joyce presented the Claddagh wedding ring he designed, to his true love and they were married.

Perhaps you’ve seen the design: it is two hands holding a heart with a crown on top.

The symbolism is all most people desire in a mate; the hands are for friendship, the heart for love and the crown signifies loyalty.

When worn on the right hand with the heart pointed out, it means you’re looking. The heart pointing in on the right hand means engagement or promise.

 When the heart point faces in, on the left hand ring finger, it symbolizes marriage.

You don’t have to go all the way to Galway like I did. Just go to the Claddagh Jewelers website: Claddaghjewellers.com where you can get more information and order an array of Claddagh jewelry. Surprise your sweetheart with a Claddagh ring. It’s the ultimate romantic gesture.

                    RK

 

Good-bye Sweet Baby James

In memory of James Donald Powers
1943-2014

James had the soul of a poet

He had such a lust for life: one moment

he would lift his glass of wine and toast:

the sacred and the profane and laugh raucously

The next he would quote some deep felt life philosophy

then share anecdotal evidence to underscore a lesson

It was a life well-lived, filled with love for his wife

and family and humankind in general and stories of

boundless adventure…

James was a man of gratitude and optimism, living many

years despite an ongoing battle with a dreadful disease

He fought the good fight with a stellar attitude

and poetry that laced the boots of his own soul

and carried him onward

James was my friend; we shared stories and poetry,

laughter and wine and sometimes curses

for mean people and blessings for the sublime!

Words gave James great pleasure, he liked

to sort his adventures and categorize them as either

sacred or profane

For the rest of my days, every time I hear                                          

those words: sacred or profane,

I’ll remember with delight and wistfulness

my dear friend and kind soul,

a poet called James                                      

Raintreepoet

Alice and LOST in the Dead Grey of Winter

 
   
In the dead grey of winter I began watching LOST on Netflix streaming

 from the pilot forward.  My intention was to inject myself with some tropical visuals

 to shore up my sagging spirit. You see, winter is my most unfavorite season.

 I find nothing wonderful about the wet and cold of the northwestern United States…

I am more of a fair weather and sunshine girl.

Spring is still six weeks out and I am looking forward to hiking the Columbia River Gorge

 and its many rugged & scenic trails. In the meantime, it is what it is.

I have one little concern: I am now hooked on this dang LOST series and like a great novel,

I don’t feel like I’ll be able to simply stop before the end.

 It is such high drama with so many twists and turns and the characters are

dynamic and engaging like the best soap opera only set in paradise.

Irresistible, really, but I am growing a winter ass and it needs to be tightened and

 God knows fresh air would do me a world of good…

 Do you know how I know that I am positively addicted?

 I am sitting in front of an episode of LOST writing this on a yellow tablet!

In the next moment, as I am dwelling on winter, I think of a winter some years ago

 and a woman I met. Her name was Alice. She has a right to her privacy, so no last name

and no certain location will identify the incident. I am remembering the time I spent with Alice

 and how we were cruelly separated.

Alice in the Dead of Winter

I was a night counselor at a mental health facility

She was a patient I conversed with most evenings

of my shift- Her name was Alice

She said she had splitting headaches so bad

she had tried to jump off the I-5 Bridge

and that was why she was there

I said, Wow that was some bad headache!

She laughed a little and then winced-Ow!

It still hurts

In a surge of compassion I asked if she

had tried an old folk remedy: banana peels

You rub the inside white part on your

temples and forehead

She brightened with hope: I would try

Anything she said…

I brought her bananas my next shift

I was released from my position a

short time later

To this day I wonder about Alice and

if the banana peels helped…I also wonder

if my suggestion was why I was let go…

Raintreepoet