Good Morning!

It's the start of a New Year, so I must write new blog posts. I have been writing a lot but haven't posted here.

I did begin to write poetry. One poem was published—I'll add it at the end of this post. Another is almost done and should be published soon. 

I've been at a standstill in some of my creative efforts. All that energy has been going into construction improvements of my rental property and home. I also had a part-time job this past year, which had me learning more about the care of persons with substance use disorder. I needed to understand more details on the business side of health and regulations. Lots of learning there, too. My position is ending, but I would love more medical work. Not direct patient care, though. That's something fulfilling, but I want to be mostly retired, and the physical demands of my past work in OBGYN are for younger folks. I do enjoy the areas of quality control and review of care work. I honed those skills when Chief of Pharmacy and Therapeutics at Kaiser Central Valley, California. I'm learning about accounting, too. I have decided to study accounting, too. That might help if I pursue board positions.

Meanwhile, my art needs more than sketching out ideas. The process is enjoyable, but I hate interruptions, so it is difficult to begin when I know I may have little peace. As things are settling down, I should be able to stretch those creative wings. I did not stop learning about art. I improved my Illustrator skills with a college course. I got an A, but there is still so much to learn! I have some workbook texts on my desk to keep at it. Photoshop is something that needs more exploration, too. I have a lot of skills, but since I have not done much Digi scrapping lately, I can use some refresher study. I have plans to learn more about video work, too!

I enjoy learning and have studied history, archaeology, and art in small snatches. 2025 marks the 800th anniversary of sealing the 1225 version of the Magna Carta. I found a good class about the Magna Carta on Coursera. It explains many legal technicalities well, and I find it fascinating.

My last posts were about dating again after widowhood. I have stepped away from that for the moment. It would be nice to have a life partner, but I focused on fun with my family. I did meet someone who weaves in my life now and then. I will likely try dating again. There's drama and much humor in the process, so those who enjoy the funny parts of my writing may have some enjoyable reading in the future.

That should bring you up to date, my dear readers. Life has been challenging in widowhood. As those familiar with the Bible know, it's an eons-old story. Still, fun things happen and make for good stories. As things are more settled, I can write about them.

I promised to end this with my poem, published in the July/August 2024 edition of Sierra Sacramento Valley magazine. However, it was not my only contribution this year. My photo of fall leaves is on the cover of the September/October issue. For more information, check the archives of this excellent magazine.

Manitoba at age four

Our house has four small spaces.

Two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room.

Our home has no running water.

Our outhouse is in the back, 

By the telephone and power lines.

An artesian well is up the avenue.

In the first tiny bedroom, there are two crib beds

Over one, on the wall, the classic, morbid "Now I Lay Me Down" children's prayer 

Embroidered by my convent-trained, French-speaking grandmother,

The last word misspelled "Aman."  

The other bedroom is crowded with a simple dresser and double bed,

A throw pillow atop the soft, nubby, diamond-patterned, cream-chenille spread.

In the kitchen,

On a counter sits an enamel basin, 

With a pitcher and ladle nearby.

On the floor, an oil drum slops pail 

Resting by an early-model electric stove.

A fly strip twists from a lightbulb above.

In the adjoining living room,

"Blue Tango," croons from a floor-model dial radio 

Fronted with a cloth of rough brown thread.

I cuddled against it in winter,

Like a hot water bottle snug in bed.

I enjoy being warm.

But this was summer in Manitoba. 

So I perch on the gray concrete slab 

In front of that blue shingle-sided home, 

Toasting in the sun —

A fresh-boiled perogie to a bannock bun.

Alone, away from an annoying younger brother.

I feel observed—perhaps, nearby, a vigilant father.

Even on farms then,

Most traffic was motorized vehicles. 

So, I watch, fascinated and ever-curious,

As an old dray with sides of slatted panels

Moves up the town road.

The driver and passenger perched on a board.

Two men, one young, one old.

The plodding nag halts, the wagon is secured,

If there is conversation, the words are unheard.

Into the load, one-handed, the strangers swing.

One in an inky leather vest wields iron tongs to sling

A blue-white block from the depths of soggy straw.

Later, I learn about ice houses.

Sometimes,

I still believe in magic.

By Karen Poirier-Brode, MD;CM