Philosophical Ramblings

Easy? What’s Easy?

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments

Well, we all know the answer to that. Lately it’s been harder and, to be honest, I really don’t understand. Sure, we get old and people change for one reason or another, but overall I just don’t get it. Maybe I never will. And honestly, I’m not okay with that.

And in truth, I really don’t want to be okay with it. I want to be wildly engaged in life. I want to do things, see thing, love life and relish every minute. Is that so hard? I really, really, don’t think that’s too hard for any of us.

It comes along with all those things we’ve always wanted to do with our lives — DO THEM.

It comes along with good days and bad — make it work for now and then make it better.

It comes with love. Real love — the smile you see on the face of everyone you pass.

I can do that.

I want to chat with my girlfriends weekly and make fabulous plans that may or may not come true, and that’s still okay.

I want to try everything, and I’m okay even if I don’t like it after all.

I want to be able to say what I mean — and have someone understand. And care.

I’m worth that much.

We’re ALL worth that much.

@pamgoodewrites.com/sophieswildhair

Morning Becomes Electric

/ Pam Goode / 8 Comments

This piece was made completely with mosaic glass in various shapes, colors, and sizes. The goal was to create my version of a Colorado Sunrise, including rocky land and tumbling stones.

Pam Goode, Artist

Holding Firm

/ Pam Goode / 8 Comments

I saw a house in England —
stones enjoined by mortar
braided into artistry
like kings and queens,

and made my way to study her —
to touch and ape this gorgeousness up close
and OH!

I saw not braids nor fancy icing cake —
designs made plush for those
with fancy fortunes to expend,

but saw instead a simple cache
of rounded river stones, quite niblet-sized —
embedded piece by piece
and skin to skin.

and laughed to see a castle built
so much like me —

pebble by pebble,
and holding firm.

Pam Goode

The Merry Days

/ Pam Goode / 6 Comments

So far I’ve made it through hauling Christmas regalia out of the attic, hanging stockings, and standing by with a ready hand while my husband lifted and settled the tree. We have dinner plans — scratch that — we had dinner plans, but then the bottom fell loose and now I have no idea what the rest of the day holds. And I’m okay with that. Really. When you see your brother once a year, you smile, hug, and take what you can get.

And what’s change really? Life is never set in stone. N E V E R. I learned that lesson at the age of four.

So I pulled out my attic stash, rounded up the pink twinkle lights that keep me happy and sane, and dove in. And yeah, it took hours, even with our small four and a half foot tree. Because, well, you know. We all know, and it just ain’t easy. One side of the living room window is a bit smashed across the glass, and once I limb the ladder, I can’t really lean in far enough to extend the lights from one end to another. I’ve been doing this for years and always took the time to make it perfect. Now I’m just happy to see the lights at all. “I grow old, I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled ….” Oops, sorry to run off course.

When I was growing up, we always kept Christmas a secret. I was in my early twenties, my sister 3 years younger, and my brother quite a bit younger when the three of us walked into the living room together — my sister and I in tights and a top and my brother — ever the creator — walked in fully dressed in his own handmade Santa suit. Yes, I said Handmade Santa Suit.

I’ll never forget the awe of it, and I’ll never forget how much we can accomplish if we take a bit of time to drop the everyday and and add a bit of creativity. .

P.S. Apparently Jingle Bells was never intended to be a Christmas song, but hey, it sure worked.

Happy Holidays to all!

Pam Goode

Sleigh Ride, Sleigh Ride, Sleigh Ride …

/ Pam Goode / 2 Comments

YES it’s winter AND that holiday feeling is indeed coming my way. If you’re more or less my age, you may even remember all the lyrics to the opening words posted above. And I have to say that not only are they remembered each December, but yes, I still love Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme. Madly.

It all started when I was a young girl and has lasted prolifically as an old(er) girl. And yes, I still have a few of those albums that were sold at Firestone for decades. In fact, one day not long ago, I dragged my husband over to Firestone to ask if the albums were still for sale there. It was a long shot, sure, but I was hopeful and keen for nostalgia. The man heading the shop lifted his head toward the skies, mulled a bit while rubbing his three days of scruffle, then looked at us and said … “Nineteen … Sixty … Seven …. ” We all laughed, but I would surely have loved to hear those old vinyls again.

For me, it will always be “Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy cozy are we, We’re snuggled up together like birds of a feather should be. Let’s take that road before us and sing a chorus or two, Come on it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!

P.S. In the early 60’s Firestone sold Christmas albums to help tire sales. I’m sure Steve and Eydie helped too.

Staring Into Space

/ Pam Goode / 18 Comments

This morning I knew exactly what I wanted to say. What I needed to say. It was clear and concise — a mix of horror and loss.

This afternoon, I can’t tell my front from my back. I can’t complete a sentence. I can’t remember where I was headed when I left the house. Maybe I just don’t want to remember — to lose these feelings of safety, sharing, and creativity — these days of love and laughter that held much of my life before this morning. It was a good life — filled with happiness, joy, women working together, and love.

And then this morning my husband misread the clock and accidentally trotted downstairs an hour early. I did the same an hour later and by then hell had already broken loose — at least in my house and my heart and the hearts and souls of so many. I’m accustomed to waiting and waiting and waiting for the election results, usually taking a day and a half or so. When have the polls ever been ready in less that a day??? This didn’t seem like a good omen, and it certainly wasn’t. I dropped into my chair and stared at the TV for only a few minutes, and then spent most of the day staring into nowhere, which seems appropriate.

I’ve read part of the manifesto put out by trump and friends, and yes, it scares me sh***tless. And yet somehow I put much less concern into it than I should have. Tonight, if I’m thinking clearly, I’ll delve further to acquaint myself more fully with Project 2025 and the demons that lurk when we’re not looking. I won’t make that mistake again, but is it too late?

Her Garden

/ Pam Goode / 4 Comments

I sang all day in the dirt.
Peat, sawed up wood, manure,
and what once took the shape of leaves
come happily together in my hands.

Good dirt smells.
First like the parts put in,
and rather less than pleasant as you
might expect —
and then all excited like a promise.
Earthworms writhe,
excited and aware.
They know full-out what’s to come:
the breaking down of life
into blackness —
and then rebirth.

Whoever thought beauty could burst
from a handful of chicken shit???

We are so much more than we know,
simply because we don’t take the time to see.

© Pam Goode

Steam

/ Pam Goode / 7 Comments

The summer is losing its steam,
and you begin to warm
and grow large in me
again.

Just today
I passed too silently
behind you,
and your body grew in greeting leaps
both left and right
until I doubted I could make
my way beyond
without a full submission
to your hands —
so present, and so full
of opportunities
to touch,

Your body
a forgiving bank
of second chances,

And I wanted my
hands
to have them all

in fingers full.

© Pamela Goode

i

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments

i cough.

and breathe and

cough

again

and wash

and walk and

run

and run and run and

run …

and still you stick

in me.

© Pam Goode

Little Moments

/ Pam Goode / 4 Comments

To be honest, I have very little recall of most Fourth of July festivities. I don’t dislike the day — I’m just ambivalent. Actually, wait . . . . . . . okay, maybe I’m not ambivalent at all.

The best thing I remember about the fourth of July is children. I love seeing their bright faces, watching to see which balloon figurine they’ll choose and then stand in eye-popping awe as a masterfully (and surely exhausted) moustachioed man (or woman) twists and turns and blows and wiggles his way into the skinny balloons until THWACK! And suddenly the child is magically holding a pretty darn good replica of a dog/spaceship/tuba/baby girl/….. And mind you, this is all AFTER we’ve stood in the forever-line for tiny-tot-face-painting.

The saving grace, of course, is the look in their eyes and the glee lighting the entire night sky.

So yeah … I LOVE the Fourth. Don’t you?