My father had a pond dug, turning a seasonal wet land into a pond, in the far back of our yard. Our yard abutted a woods, so essentially the pond was in the woods.  My older brother then got ducks and geese to go into the pond.   A small flock of Canadian geese.  While this might sound quaint and picturesque, geese are one nasty creature, especially if they are nesting and feel threatened.  They will bite, and they will also attack you with their wings.  When your  a small boy, these can really hurt. Who am I kidding, they also can easily hurt a grown adult.  They also had a way of trying to sneak up on you, and trying to attack you from behind. This required constant attention, when you were in “their territory” working or doing other things. Essentially working in the backyard was like walking in a hostile territory, or like going into a group of bullies everyday.   Of course, we could have just killed the things, except for the fact that they were my brother’s pets.  So that wasn’t really an option.  These geese however taught me a number of lessons. First was how to grab a gooses neck, and wrap up its wings without getting buffeted to bad.  The second was how to deal with bullies. The third was that I loved my brother, because if I didn’t, I would have killed those damn geese.

Siobon waited.  The fog was growing thicker. She touched the cross around her neck.  Gripped tighter on her sword handle, and listened through the fog. On the other side of the bridge she heard the weeds rustle. She knew they were there.  She thought at least 30 of them, slowly creeping towards the bridge.   It was a cold morning. She thought it was either a good day to die or to do a lot of killing.  The King had said to hold this bridge.  She patted her horse and waited for the first to step onto the bridge.

1/22/17

© words and pictures by Dan DeMarle 2017

“I guess I’m just feeling Septemberish,” sighed Chester. “It’s getting towards autumn now. And it’s so pretty up in Connecticut. All the trees change color. The days get very clear―with a little smoke on the horizon from burning leaves. Pumpkins begin to come out.”
― George Selden, The Cricket in Times Square

© Picture Dan DeMarle 2016

When I was little, we went to church. Every Sunday.  Looking back on it now, it is striking for me to remember.  The Sundays in church were entirely white.  A sea of white faces.  The only black face was when a priest came from Africa.  At the time, that all seemed so normal.  My School was completely white, my church was completely white, and my street and neighborhood were completely white.

I am so glad and grateful that my life has taken on so much color.  All those colors of the rainbow were absent, when I was young. However, you can’t miss what you are never exposed to.   You can’t miss the taste of chocolate, if you have never tasted it.  You can’t crave a mango if you have never had one.  So go out everyone and have some chocolate, eat a mango, and think about your life, and what you may be missing, and are clueless that it is lacking from your life.  Then try to go get it.  A Rainbow is much more magical than a sheet of white paper.

In my day to day work life, families come into me to speak of their worries and fears about their children, whether these are children, teens, or young adults, or adults.  I can tell you with absolute certainty that the rich white mother, the poor white mother, the mom and dad, the two dads, the two moms, the grandmother raising her grandchild, the mom who was a teen mother, the divorced mother, the happily married mother, the older mother, the never married mother, the Black mother, the mother or an adopted child, the Hispanic mother, the Asian mother, the Biracial mother, the mother serving in the military, the employed mother, the unemployed mother, the homeless mother, the professional mother, the city mother,  the suburban mother, and the rural mother, all have the same fears. They also all have the same tears.  They all have the same battles, the same worries, and many of the same problems. So what exactly is it that we let divide us.

The day to day struggles that poverty causes in people’s lives are incredibly hard for people who are not poor to understand. The common trope that they are lazy and unmotivated is so utterly wrong. The amount of time and energy, for example, it takes to go grocery shopping when you do not have a car is staggering. At the same time, you may well have to buy higher priced and/or lower quality food, and put up with “s*&^” that white people or middle class or upper class people would never put up with. The amount of time it takes to get to work taking public transportation or to get rides from friends is incredible. You also end up working jobs that those same other people would never want their own children to have, except for a few years in High School.

© words by Dan DeMarle 2017

There were three flowers growing in a field.  As flowers would, they were arguing with each other about which was the prettiest.  One grew towards a spot where the sun was shinning brightest taxing its root system.  One grew its roots wider around it so that it could drink up more surface water and grow prettier faster.  One simply grew with no strategy trusting in the sun and water, and its adequate root system.  They argued and fought and tried to out compete each other.  Then a large object blocked the sun causing the first flower to begin to die as it had overextended itself by trying to reach that sunny spot.  Then the shape let out a tremendous stream of urine that formed a pool around the second flower, that was overly dependent on surface water.  It seems the cow from the neighboring field had wandered into this field when the regulations that had kept the cow on its side of the field were taken away. It seems a new President somewhere had loosed all types of rules.  The first two flowers died.  The third flower was overjoyed that it had not trusted in the sun or the water and it was the most beautiful. Who cared about the sun or water, or the other flowers they were immigrants it seems from another field whose seeds had spread in this field. This flower was the best ever, it gleamed beautifully and proudly to be a native flower of this field.  Then the cow ate it. The end.

© words by Dan DeMarle 2017

Freezing rain resulted in some gorgeous ornaments being formed.

2/12/17

© words and pictures by Dan DeMarle 2017

When I was little, I had three older sisters.   My mother was busy as was my father.   My sisters were all different, but in large families the older children ‘parent’ the younger children. I did the same for my younger siblings including my younger sister, although she was next in line, so I can’t say I ever really ‘parented’ her.   We did a lot together as a family, and while my parents were the parents there were many times when I literally needed a hand to hold on to, that it would be an older sister helping me toddle along.  If I fell skating, it was likely one of my big sisters who picked me up.   If I wanted a book read to me, it was likely one of them that read it.  If I needed help, it was likely one of them that helped me.  Of course as we got older relationships changed, as they always do, and there have been times I have helped each of them.  However when I look at my life, I can see the impact of each of them on me.  I can see one’s artistic side, one’s athletic side, one’s creative side, and one’s writing skills in a lot of what I do.  Altogether the three of them have been good role models for me at various times of my life.  When children grow and leave the family house, it is as if they are setting off on a new trail through a field of waist high wheat. The advantage of having older siblings is that as you set off, you can see the paths they have taken up to that point.  That doesn’t mean you have to follow those paths, but at least you see where they have gone.  Sometimes you head toward one of their paths, and sometimes you head in exactly the opposite direction.  I can say that I had three strong role models, who I am still proud to say, “her, yeah,  that’s my sister, isn’t she something!”

© words by Dan DeMarle 2017

When I was growing up with my 7 siblings, we amazingly never stole from one another, well at least I didn’t. Sure we would borrow each other clothes. I am sure my brothers and I often ended up with each others’ socks each time the laundry was done. That was not stealing, it was just laundry.  We did not steal with one notable exception. Books. We were all voracious readers. If there was a good book in the house, and the person currently reading it, put it down. ZAMM it was in someone’s hands or room. There were quite a few book battles at times, with many accusations of who was reading which book first. I remember Jaws, The Lord of the Rings, and the Shinning being particularly well stolen, particularly because the younger siblings were told that they could not read them, which just increased the value of those books.Watership Down was another well thumbed book. Now If I could just remember which one of them ended up with my copy of “All creatures great and small.”

© words by Dan DeMarle 2017