Thanksgiving is in the air. There’s a 20 pound turkey thawing in the fridge, yams and russets are standing by in the pantry, canned pumpkin and chocolate chips nestle in the cupboard beside tins of nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon.

But the gang won’t be gathering this year. Instead, we will have a masked, socially-distanced food swap just past noon in M’s garage, and a Zoom dinner at 4:00. And I couldn’t be more grateful!

Because at this writing, we are all healthy, and have what we need.

And that is what I wish for you, Dear Friends, health and sustenance–Health and sustenance and the spirit of gratitude to appreciate such sweet, simple gifts.

Blessings

*Abbie Johnson Taylor’s voice is evident in her music, in her poetry, in her essays and her stories. It is the voice of a woman seeking to balance tenderness and strength, a woman striving to leave her creative mark in a world crowded with voices. I only wonder where I will find her next.*

***

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

I see blue sky above my silent back yard.

In the distance, dogs bark.

A saw whines, followed by other construction noises.

A plane flies overhead.

Far away, a train whistles.

Caressed by a cool, autumnal breeze, I reflect on my life, at peace.

***

The above poem was published in the November 1st edition of The Weekly Avocet. I wrote it in my back yard one Sunday afternoon.

***

Abbie lives in Sheridan, Wyoming, where for six years, she cared for her late husband Bill, totally blind, who was partially paralyzed by two strokes soon after they were married. Before that, she was a registered music therapist and worked for fifteen years in a nursing home and other facilities that served senior citizens. Abbie has a visual impairment, and during this time, she facilitated a support group for others likeherself. She also taught braille and served on the advisory board of a trust fund that allows persons with blindness or low vision to purchase adaptive equipment and services.

Abbie is the author of two novels, two poetry collections, and a memoir with another novel on the way. Her poems, short stories, and essays have been published in various journals and anthologies. She belongs to several writers’ organizations and a women’s singing group and takes water exercise classes at the YMCA. Please visit Abbie’s website at: http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com and her blog at: https://abbiescorner.wordpress.com to learn more about her and her work.

* The first time I heard Carol Farnsworth read one of her poems aloud I was captivated by her sincerity, warmth and humorous approach to life. Since that time, my appreciation of her has only expanded. I have no doubt that Carol brought more than sign language to the non-verbal low-functioning adults she worked with for ten years. Clearly, joy and compassion are ever with her.*

***

Hand Signals

By Carol Farnsworth

I sit quietly, the only sound is the hum of the Oxygen concentrator beside the bed. I gently hold Helen’s hand. Her hand is cool, soft to the touch. It rests limp in my hand. I study the hand veined with blue lines and wrinkles. I turn the hand palm up to trace the long life line extending past the wrist. The hand is rough with dry skin. I reach for hand cream and rub some into her palms.

On my first visit, Helen grabbed my offered hand with a fierce strength. Her grip was painful. I talked and sang to her until she drifted into a light slumber and her grip relaxed. I felt my hand was the lifeline anchoring Helen into this world.

On the next visit, I held a hand that lost it’s strength. When I squeezed a light squeeze was felt in return. The strength increased as the time for her Morphine drew near. After receiving the drug, she rested and released my hand.

Another day, the hands were gesturing and Helen laughed and chatted with her deceased sister. She was showing how her to fix soft boiled eggs. Her eyes were open but it was not this world she saw.

Yesterday the hands were hot to the touch. When I attempted to hold one, she pulled back and grimaced in pain. Only the Morphine released her to allow a light slumber.

Now I hold a cooling hand with no muscle tone or movement. I squeeze but there is no response. I gently place the hand under the blanket and rise to give Helen a last kiss on the forehead. I whisper,”I love you, go in peace.” I leave the room, knowing this is the last goodby.

Printed in Spring / Summer. Magnets and Ladders

***

Carol Farnsworth has worn many hats. She is an artist of felted sculpture , actor and singer. She started to write two years ago. She writes poetry and short essays about people and places along life’s highway. She sees the lite side of being blind.

Carol’s writings have appeared in the Avocet, Plum Tree Tavern, Spirit Fire, The Blind Perspective , Magnets and Ladders and the Handy Uncapped Pen.

Carol writes a blog that seeks to entertain and instruct by narrowing the gap between visual and blind individuals. She sees the funny side of life and her stories and poems often reflect this.

In addition to her twice weekly blog posts, Carol is working on a Chat book,”Falling” about Human and Nature’s failing and learning to rise from these fallings.

You can find her blog by clicking the link below

https://blindontheliteside.com/

Carol can be reached at carolaspot

*Open any of Ann Chiapetta’s books and you cross the threshold directly into her heart. Her words advocate for human dignity, family connections, independence of mind and spirit. Perhaps the most vibrant thread throughout her poetry as well as her prose is Ann’s recognition of the important role dogs play in human experience–as teammates in independent travel, as soul-mates in navigating life. And while I have never hugged er in person, I feel Ann’s genuine good nature just speaking to her over the phone and when reading her words*

**

The Marriage Pot

*from Upwelling by Ann Chiapetta*

Our first place was a fourth-floor apartment

in a prewar walk-up.

I grew to hate laundry day

grocery shopping,

walking the dog.

The dog abhorred our new home.

Her agitation was so intense

she took up chewing

when she never had before.

Her change and the roaches prompted

us to question our decision to stay.

The vibes were ornery.

So were the nightmares.

I don’t remember many pleasant things that happened.

We worked, we partied,

we hardly spoke to each other.

We bought the spaghetti pot

the second night we moved in.

I made gravy after scrubbing the kitchen

and laying down roach traps.

The pot went with us on all our camping trips

and finally to our new apartment.

The dog stopped chewing the day

we left the old walk–up.

Fifteen years later,

I have said good–bye to Blackie,

our second apartment, and its mice.

Our new place is

free of bugs and vermin and bad vibes.

The spaghetti pot is still with us, too.

I look at it sometimes, thinking,

if anything we owned

could represent our marriage, it is this pot.

It has weathered the fires beneath it,

protecting its contents from the heat.

It isn’t pretty to look at,

and pales when set beside a newer, unused one.

But, despite its dulled finish and dents,

it’s a trustworthy part of our kitchen.

Just like our hearts when it comes to our marriage.

I can depend on it

to boil the macaroni just right in record time.

What we put in the pot is

as important as what comes out of it.

Well–flavored commitments,

hot–simmering passion, spiced tongues,

all tempered in a trustworthy apparatus

complete with scorch marks

and dents of good use,

reminding us how far we’ve come.

For Jerry

September 2000

***

Ann Chiappetta M.S. author and poet.

Making meaningful connections with others through writing.

Ann’s nonfiction essays have been printed in Dialogue magazine, among others. Her poems are often featured in Poesis, The Pangolin Review, the Avocet, and Magnets and Ladders. Her poetry is also included in Breath and Shadow’s 2016 debut anthology, Dozen: The Best of Breath and Shadow.

Her first two books, a poetry collection, UPWELLING: POEMS C 2016 and memoir, FOLLOW YOUR DOG A STORY OF LOVE AND TRUST C 2017, are available from all eBook sellers in electronic and print softcover, and as audio books from Audible.

Ann’s third book WORDS OF LIFE: POEMS AND ESSAYS C 2019 can also be purchased in all eBook formats and in softcover. The Audible audio book will be released in Fall 2020. Ann’s newest title, A String of Stories: From the Heart to the Future C 2020, is also available as an eBook and softcover.

Ann’s blog: www.thought-wheel.com. Ann’s personal website: www.annchiappetta.com

On One Foot

…brief updates about me and those I love

** The sun is shining at last here in Salem, and I feel like I am running to catch up with myself.

*silver haired blind lady running breathlessly to catch giggling little imp-girl*

**Because at last I can announce the publication of my second book of poetry

One Glittering Wing

You can find the print paperback at Amazon, and the ebook will be available in about 72 hours.

*silver haired blind lady turning cartwheels*

Here are a few words from the Foreword, written by poet and memoirist, Ada Molenoff:

“Throughout the book, word-pictures of sensory experience and metaphors reveal meaning. Poetic forms fit her themes of nature, loss, spirituality, and the world’s repair. Each poem tells its tale indirectly, letting the reader leap to understanding. We not only read the pieces—we participate in them. For example, the poet’s vivid storytelling in “Walls” generates empathy and finally, our indignation.”

**And as Autumn paints trees and landscape in hues of gold and rust, beckons us into our homes, our families, ourselves, I wish you each and all sweetness and hope, Love and Light.

*silver haired blind lady embracing the giggling little imp-girl*