Dad sold Norm"s motor for the canoe. . . we sure had fun with that...
once a year was enough, but boy, what a riot. I always think of our late fall ride when we had KFC along and we bought some Grolsch beer because I needed a bottle of it to draw for art cla.s.s. It was so brisk, we needed to wear our "Pepto-Bismol Suits" (snowmobile suits).
It was also great in the summer to lean over the bow and let it bounce over the waves. I have so much time to sit and think, yet less control over my emotions... weakness causes me to be upset concerning things which I would otherwise forget about. Now, all I can do is talk it out or write it out!
June 14, 1984... I look into the star-filled sky and feel that there must be a Creator; the galaxies continue beyond the farthest reaches of man"s telescopes, and so they must continue forever, for if there should be an end... a wall ... then surely something must lie on the other side; and thus, I am overwhelmed.
If only people would not be blind unto themselves! If only they would hear and understand. . . but then there would be no need to talk.
Life Song
A cool breeze filters Through summer"s last green, The raiment grown weary of bygone heat, Weaving with the insects" drone An eerie, melancholic spell; Forever crickets seem to chant Amid their restless, aging cloak, Singing through both day and night As if their ever present trill Will mask their own mortality.
So vigilant these singers are Yet they are not aware That those who never cease to sing Their daily melody Simply mirror common thoughts (And mirrors but reflect the song That Life is wont to sing.) Beware the cricket and his song Lest you, as he, be singing still When autumn shadows yawn, For never can one live again the hours of singsong mindlessness When one sought not that higher note Which would embrace eternity; The change which robs each creature"s breath Is deaf unto Life"s steady chant For what is Life But numbered days That march from countless decades pa.s.sed Unto the land beyond?
Lauren Isaacson June 15, 1984
Sensory Dreams
My eyes yearn to see those things Which I have never seen...
To scale the highest mountain peaks That rule the evergreen...
My legs desire to trace the way "Cross meadows, fields, and streams And to traverse that narrow path Where few footsteps have been.
I would love to feel the wind Upon my flowing hair...
To hear the birds and smell the flow"res And breathe the unspoiled air.
If stars were made for wishing, And dreams made to come true I"d conquer all my frailties So these dreams I might pursue.
Lauren Isaacson June 16, 1984
Captive (Milkweed Pod/Man)
Borne through the air on silken shafts, The product of a waning life Is hastened on its windward course; Imprisoned in its silver craft, It journeys toward that fateful end Where it shall rival life and death.
Man thrives upon the tender thought That he is master of his life, Remembering not the autumn seed Whose dormancy is blessed with life Through nature"s will and circ.u.mstance; Yet is not man as surely bound Unto his birthright"s soul and mind, Entrapped upon the winds of time And captive of the senses?
Lauren Isaacson June 17, 1984
Beyond
How I long For a place beyond Where land and sky are one Where the beam That will shine Upon fruit and vine Is a true, benevolent sun...
Where age and time Are not maligned Like sun obscured by cloud And battle fields To peace shall yield; Old scars it will enshroud...
The unseen frights Of moonless nights Nowhere shall be found And love will fall On each and all As rain upon the ground...
Here joy shall wind Throughout the mind As streams toward a pond And I, to One, As all, to One, Eternally shall bond.
Lauren Isaacson June 10, 1984 (1st and 2nd) June 21, 1984 (finished)
Time spent immersed in thought is time best spent. One can cleanse his mind and clarify his beliefs, as well as open himself to the objective definition of new ideas. Some thoughts: Marriage can be self-inflicted punishment. The habitual liar will bury himself alive.
Mom finished typing all of my poems dated from my time at Augie to the present... they look nice.
July 1, 1984... I think my spending spree is quite similar to Norm"s after Tracy took off. It"s like you are trying to fill a void by masking the same old place. It keeps the mind occupied, too. . . but no matter how occupied the mind becomes, trivial concerns never quite do the job. After all the money is gone, the emptiness still persists.
At least I can enjoy the mutuality of our relationship, and look forward to great things in the future. . . long after I am released from this "earthly bondage."... it must be worth any trials one need endure previous to the journey into "the beyond." I believe I shall see Norm again, as I do now in my dreams.
July 3, 1984... I woke up and speedily dressed. Hyman"s was going to deliver the furniture. Les and Dad took my antiques upstairs before they arrived. Everything fits and I think it looks great. It was rather amusing... one of the topics we hit upon while the movers were upstairs was the raft of old bottles (whiskey) I have displayed on the console... (from the Thrift Shop). One of the fellows said, "Women shouldn"t drink when they"re pregnant." I wasn"t completely sure, but I thought he was referring to me. When I went down to get the check for him, he said, "So when is it due?" I said, "Don"t feel bad, but I"m not pregnant. I have a liver problem... my liver"s enlarged."
I felt sorry for him; how could he know? He was just trying to be friendly... maybe he had a family of his own. I guess the episode did make me realize that I don"t exactly look like a "stick" anymore. . .
but it was rather funny.
July 7, 1984... haven"t done much today... didn"t feel too great... did take Steve to The Dock for a late birthday celebration. He likes that place the best. I could just eat the salad, bread and Won-Tons. We saw a guy with a hole the size of Texas in the seat of his pants; he was taking a woman to eat at The Dock! I wonder how he"ll feel when he finally discovers why everyone is smiling at him?!!
We sat at the Moline Riverside Parkway for awhile, "til the bugs drove us out. . .there were millions of those "cheap bugs". . . what a waste!
They"re built so cheap... all they can do is incubate, breed, shed their skins all over people"s cars, and then die!
July 10, 1984... This is the first day in, well, I"ll bet a year or so, that I didn"t apply a speck of make-up on my eyes or elsewhere! It was another HOT day. Mom and I worked on the rag rugs. She cut the warp thread to size and I strung three strands through a needle and proceeded to tie the fringe on the rug. Yesterday she unpacked all my china from the storage boxes in the cubby holes; we put it in my antique buffet. It looks great! It"s fun to see it all again.
The Day
I watched from my bench On the sun-dappled lawn As the cool glow of morning Aged to radiant noon.
From youth to prime In naught but hours With n"er so much As a backward glance, Disdainful of its hapless plight.
Scarcely had the Day begun When shadows bent from earthly things, Yet steadfast to its mission bound, It envied not the youthful light That shall tomorrow take its place, But with unselfish wisdom Shed its golden beam upon the earth; And when the distant western sky Let go the aged, fiery disk, Whence, for hours, it reigned complete, Precious little time remained To cast upon the glistening haze A brief reflection of the Day Whose life had touched eternity.
Lauren Isaacson August 23, 1984
"Of b.u.t.terflies"
In a shaft of yellow light A monarch captures on her wings An ambered, opalescent glow While sailing on the Breeze of Life.
A seeming drunken path she weaves, As if berefit of aim or goal, For fields of flowers compose her world And nectar sweet sustains her breath.
So high she flies Yet sees no more Than that which self-indulgence brings; How glad am I That through these eyes I see more than the b.u.t.terfly.
Lauren Isaacson August 24, 1984