If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies.
~Author Unknown
Be courteous to all, but intimate with few;
and let those be well-tried before you give them your confidence.
George Washington
You must look into other people as well as at them.
Lord Chesterfield
But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer.
The Lord is the light and one Who saves me, I fear no one.
"...If you can make a girl laugh - you can make her do anything..."
“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”
― Marilyn Monroe
“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.”
“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
A bend in the road is not the end of the road... unless you fail to make the turn. ~Author Unknown
To Appear
Often through the silent nights
At the gentle closing of the day,
The shadows of the world slowly appear
And behind my closed eyes my dreams begin to play.
Effortlessly to the water side I step
By garden wall where the pale lilies blow,
The great knights come riding two by two
Through the city down below.
Music gently sweeps across the trees
To the river warm so fresh and clear,
It is this place I have drawn with pencil
And slowly it all begins to appear.
Fairy tales, a royal knight so true
It is then in which I do delight,
The full moon that lays over head
I wander remembering him through the night.
The boat then from the pond and reeds
Crosses night and sparkles past the field,
To this I watch outside of myself
It is to this that I do yield.
I leave the web of the colors to forget
From which the mirror had cracked once side to side,
Shattered and beaten to the ground I threw
For at once I saw that I must not hide.
So down I came to find the boat
To chant the wiccan's song aloud,
To reach the first shelter by the star light
The gleaming shapes of the sweet and the proud.
Out upon through my pencil then
The Royal Knight found his place,
Dismounting with force, strong yet careful
To stand before me now face to face.
Strands of gold with light and sheer
Pastel eyes reflecting the summer sky,
Behold I say don't touch me please
For the sweetness surely will make me cry.
Up and down the people now watch us go
Watching as a mirror so clear,
It is through my hand that I draw
And slowly it all begins to appear.
~D. Smith
To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful.
In a dancer, there is a reverence for such forgotten things as the miracle of the small beautiful bones and their delicate strength.
Dancing is the loftiest, the most moving, the most beautiful of the arts, because it is not mere translation or abstraction from life; it is life itself.
”Letting go of perfectionism,
so ingrained in the nature of a ballet dancer,
can be the most difficult thing.”
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When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
~Henri Nouwen
Life is short, live it. Love is rare, grab it. Anger is bad, dump it.
Fear is awful, face it. Memories are sweet, cherish it.
But oh! the blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak fearlessly on any subject; with whom one's deepest as well as one's most foolish thoughts come out simply and safely. Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. ~George Elliot
Constant attention by a good nurse may be just as important as a major operation by a surgeon.
"Were there none who were discontented with what they have, the world would never reach anything better."
Nursing is an art: and if it is to be made an art, it requires an exclusive devotion as hard a preparation, as any painter's or sculptor's work; for what is the having to do with dead canvas or dead marble, compared with having to do with the living body, the temple of God's spirit? It is one of the Fine Arts: I had almost said, the finest of Fine Arts. ~Florence Nightingale
Beyond Forgetting is an award-winning collection of poetry and short prose about Alzheimer's disease written by 100 contemporary writers--doctors, nurses, social workers, hospice workers, daughters, sons, wives, and husbands--whose lives have been touched by the disease. Through the transformative power of poetry, their words enable the reader to move "beyond forgetting," beyond the stereotypical portrayal of Alzheimer's disease to honor and affirm the dignity of those afflicted.
What is being a nurse really like?
It’s like walking a tightrope with your hands in your pockets.
You must do this, that and the other, without unbalancing the act.
Nurses get to see so many things, patients come in hurt, afraid and vulnerable, or
angry, confrontational and manipulative, and everything in between.
We do the best that we can with the resources we have.
We listen, we cheer, we encourage, we set limits, we admonish and we educate.
We hear ways to use cuss words we never knew existed.
We get to listen to stories of people who have been married 60 years and how they met.
We learn about family feuds and dysfunction.
We listen to young children’s fears and teenagers’ anguish,
Sometimes they are wrapped up in anger and defiance, so we have to be detectives and counselors.
We pull people from the edge of death, and sometimes they live, and sometimes they just exist, in a bruised and battered body with no real knowledge of where they are.
We feel frustration and hope, anger and joy, and all the little points in between.
We do our job and beyond.
We care, and we believe, we give and we receive, we comfort and we pray, and we work as a team to heal.
We are the eyes and ears of not only the physicians, but the families who cannot be there.
We navigate the HIPAA laws…or try to, even through the angry phone calls.
We get to hold the hand of the dying as they transition beyond this life
and we hold the babies, gently, tenderly and guide them into this one.
We get to do so many, many things, be intimate with one person at a time,
we change them and they change us.
Acknowledged sometimes, scolded, hit, cursed and called names at other times.
It is hard, physically, emotionally, mentally.
It is tearing down and building up.
To be a Nurse… It is life-changing.
And I am blessed.
Sleep
Subtle sounds, caressing thoughts
Dance around me soft and slow,
I close my eyes to greet the slumber
And into my dreams I anxiously go.
Upon the green of thickened grass
And the wakening dawn of cascading snow,
Through oceans blue and sands of white
My mind falls silent for this is all I know.
A second if only to breath in the air
The crashing waves strike and call to me,
As the palm trees sway in the wind.
My worries seem to let me be.
Deep in slumber and brilliant color
His face appears beautiful and real,
As if he was with me here
It is him I know it is him I feel.
His hands warm upon my skin
Ever so easy with passion and care,
I reach to seek him
For in the distant of sleep he follows me there.
~D. Smith
The Artist
Upon the artists palette white and fair
To see the worth, to loosen , to wear,
Upon his chest with each rise and fall
To slightly pause or completely stall.
Colors in hand that flow steadfast
Creating the scenes of present and past,
With green sheathed lazy daffodils
Placed gently upon the window sills.
Cascading shadows through the leaves
As the wind blows through the barley sheaves,
And a paint of sails across the seas
The artist creates what he shall please.
Tall grey walls of a castles towers
Surrounds the space for flowers,
A lover walks among the ocean side
For here she reaches the silent tide.
She waits for her Sir Lancelot there
With a willowed crown braided through her hair,
It is there to her upon he rode with shield
It is there, man and woman they did yield.
Together they cast their eyes upon the moon light there
Their breath like clouds hung in the air,
With glances they know they have found one another
And the artists form begins with new light and color.
~ D. Smith
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