Author: Marilyn Paluszak

  • Londontown

    They go to see the Changing of the Guard
    and then, like ants, descend into the Tube
    in a mad scurry to Speaker’s Corner
    where they swarm in droves
    around ice cream vendors.
    And the world walks by unseen.
     
    Not for the People Watcher.  No. 
    For her, the best part of all
    is strolling down Bayswater
    on a Sunday afternoon
    in the Fall . . .
     
         Children’s laughter mingles with the crunch
         of autumn’s leaves inside the Park.
         Artists hawk blurry velvet nudes
         aligned like the beheaded along the fence;
         while punkers, three abreast, strut uniform weirdness,
         shoving innocents aside.
     
    Not for the Rambler.  No. 
    For her, the best part
    is turning toward the Serpentine
    on a Sunday afternoon
    in the Fall . . .
     
         Little boys in short gray pants sail paper boats
         while nannies scold and coax.
         Riders post in precision atop huge bay mares
         and saunter down historic Rotten Row;
         while women wrapped in hand-painted silk
         giggle behind veils of secrecy.
     
    They all bring cameras
    to record that they were there.
    They run from place to place
    to stand in front of monuments and pose —
    from Sloane to Trafalgar Square.
    And all the while, the world walks by unseen.
     
    Not for the Traveler.  No.
    For her, the best part is in the knowing
    that she’ll be back for another stroll
    some other Sunday afternoon.


    Reprinted by Marilyn Paluszak from a poem originally written in 1999.


    My favorite city, London is filled with history and is visited by people from every country in the world. When you go there, be sure to leave time to stroll along the banks of the Thames some evening.

    Tower Bridge, London
    Tower Bridge marks the location of the Tower of London, where many famous people were jailed through the ages. It is also where the royal jewels are kept.
    Queen's Guard practicing maneuvers on Rotten Row, Hyde Park
    Strolling alongside Hyde Park’s Rotten Row, we happened upon the Queen’s Guard practicing maneuvers for her birthday in 2002.
    Buckingham Palace, London
    Buckingham Palace is no longer the primary residence of the Queen but when she is there, the British flag flies overhead.
    The Tower of Big Ben is a must see.
    Big Ben is a big draw, especially upon the hours of noon and midnight. It might be prudent during high tourist seasons to choose a somewhat less auspicious hour to hear the bells toll.

  • Driving west across the United States


    Driving across the United States
    
    PART 2:  ALBANY (NY) to JOLIET (IL)

    Rob, Marilyn with sign saying we were moving east by traveling westward

    We didn’t have the dates or journey set in stone but we had a sign!

    Dinky at the gym, getting buff for his westward trip round the world.

    Dinky went to the gym with us while in Albany area.


    Hogan's Alley Restaurant (LeRoy, NY)
    Hogan’s Hideaway, Rochester
    Jell-O Museum (LeRoy, NY) -- the first of many museums along our westward drive across the U.S.
    Dinky poses as a Jell-O deliveryman.
    Ying's Wings, Things & Bar hosted our last family dinner before we headed out of New York for our westward journey across the United States.
    WNY family goodbye bash at Ying’s Wings, Things & Bar.

    Harrah's Casino (Joliet, IL) was our first paid for hotel room of our westward drive across the United States
    Harrah’s Casino in Joliet, IL

    Just as every journey needs a start date, every journey needs direction. Ours will be west for a couple of reasons. First, west is the preferred direction for long-distance air travel. Changing time zones in the air westward is a lot less tiring that going east. We know this is fact because we have traveled from New York to England a number of times.

    Second, for driving across the United States, west is great. You get on the road in the morning. The sun is behind you, to the east. In the afternoons, somewhere around 4:00 p.m., you start looking for a motel along the interstate. Rooms will be plentiful. You can relax, check out your emails and have a nice dinner. All while avoiding the setting sun in your eyes.

    Plus, driving in one primary direction is easy. Every time you exit for food, gas or lodging, there is no problem getting lost. All we do is follow the signs for West and we are back on track. Go West was our mantra.

    An inauspicious beginning to a grand world tour

    Bands would play and twirlers march if our lives were a movie. This is no work of fiction: Rob quit his job and we sold our home (and nearly everything we owned) to do this crazy thing people told us they only dreamed of doing. Alas, there was no band or even someone waving.

    Our magnificent journey began when we got in the car as if we were going to the grocery store. Our friends and colleagues say we are being adventurous but the reality is a quiet departure sans fanfare.

    With New Hampshire behind us, we stop in Vermont for lunch, and an hour or so later we are back home. Well, home as in the Albany area, by dinnertime. My mother was happy to give us a bed for four nights. Savvy travelers and frugal to the bone, we will bank the cost of lodging for some future stay when we need to exceed our budget.

    Primary checklist for long-term travel

    There is no giant last minute to-do list. We are decidedly carefree and lackadaisical. Especially when compared to people who cannot leave home without knowing exactly where they will eat and sleep every day. All we know for sure is that we must be in California by the end of September; want to be in Sydney, Australia, for their Christmas and New Year celebrations; and need to be in Stuttgart, Germany, on April 26, 2006.

    I joke that all we need are valid passports and a couple of credit cards and we will be good to go anywhere. That may be true for a week or so, but there are some issues to consider when you are planning to be gone for a year. For instance, it turned out that being certifiably healthy is an actual requirement for passage on a container ship.

    Freighter passengers do need to be healthy and nimble

    Freighters are working ships, after all. They are not in the business of catering to the whims of passengers. The captain will not accept us until he sees proof that we are healthy. We must be nimble enough to climb up and down stairs to get to food three times a day. And those stairwells are not like the ones on ocean liners. There will be no doctor onboard so we must be prepared for any emergency.

    For instance, I was traveling with a week’s worth of prescription antibiotics because of drug allergies. We thought that if I were to get an infection in some remote location, a week’s worth of antibiotics would be enough to get us to a more populated spot with a hospital. We also purchased medical evacuation insurance for the freighter. Our insurance policy would cover us for a year.

    Getting out of the state of New York is not fast

    Leaving Albany and Marilyn’s Mom, we headed straight west to Hamlin, a small town by Lake Ontario. This time we would spend a few days with Rob’s Mom, Jean. This mooching food and lodging from Moms is helping our daily budget!

    The three of us decided to take in some touristy sites as a sort of exercise to get Rob and me into the traveling mood. First, we went to nearby Rochester to catch a show at the Planetarium; always a fun thing to do. After seeing the show — along with a contingent from a local middle school — we opted for an adult lunch at Hogan’s Hideaway. Good choice. This is feeling like a vacation.

    Dinky does the Jell-O Museum in LeRoy, New York

    Have I told you about our traveling companion? Dinky was a gift and a faithful travel companion. He fit nicely in a side pocket of my bag. Dinky was happy to accept the role of stand-in for all the people who said they wished they could stow away in our luggage. Dinky is a lot lighter and he’s happy to go where we go!

    Jean mentioned over breakfast that the nearby town of LeRoy was home to a Jell-O museum.  We had no idea. In all the years of visiting Western New York, we never knew about the world beyond the exit sign for LeRoy. Dinky seemed interested, so it was an easy decision. The Jell-O became the first museum of this journey.

    LeRoy is a very pretty little town, with big old houses on tree-lined streets. The official name is the Jell-O Gallery Museum and it is an oddly interesting place. We never knew that Jell-O had such an extensive history. Or that there are so many molds — there are LOTS of jello molds!! Check out their website for recipes. This is a fun and inexpensive place to bring the family, too: adult tickets are only $5.00; children 6-11, $1.50; and children under 6 are free. We didn’t take one of those — a free child, that is.

    Aunt Rose’s 80th Birthday Dinner

    Timing is everything and our Sunday morning drive west took us toward Buffalo.  The entire Paluszak clan gathered for Great Aunt Rose’s 80th birthday at the Polish Villa.  Their dinner menu is printed in Polish but that is no problem. It features fresh and smoked sausage, pierogi and sauerkraut, browned with bits of bacon and seasonings.  Yummy, hearty, home cooked food this crowd grew up eating.

    The Paluszak Family never lets an occasion go by without a celebration. Aunt Joan and Uncle Rick are moving and we are traveling around the world. Still reeling from the Polish dinner of the night before, the next day the party moved to “Yings Wings, Things & Bar.” This is the product of a wise Chinese restaurant owner who expanded his menu to include cheap beer, pizza and the now famous Buffalo Wings. It was a great place for the extended clan to meet, greet and say farewell to the travelers among us.

    Long day’s drive westward into the night

    Celebrations and parties aside, Tuesday we didn’t stop for the night until we were 600 miles further west.  This is our first long day of driving and we finally felt like we were heading toward California. As the sun began to set in our eyes, we opted to jump off the interstate and follow Route 6 looking for lodging on a calmer road.

    One of our travel “rules” is that wherever we sleep is referred to as “home.” It took being on the road for a day to really let it sink in that we were — for all practical purposes — going to be homeless. Ours will be a white privilege type of homeless since we have the money to pay for food and lodging. It felt odd, though, to consider being without the anchor of our bed in a room with walls.

    …wherever we sleep will be referred to as home.”

    The countryside got darker and more desolate as we moved further from the busy Interstate traffic. Visions of the Bates Motel were floating through my mind. Just as we thought we’d have to call the car “home,” we drove into a small city. 

    We had no idea where we were because there was no welcome sign or post office in sight. None of the shops on Main Street were open. Great. Our first night away from New York family and we are lost already.

    I joked with Rob to speed so we could rout out a police car. The words barely left my mouth as Rob pulled to the side of the street to make a U-turn and — you guessed it — a police car drove by. We both laughed out loud, but at least we knew then that we were in Joliet, Illinois. We were discrete and waited for the police to disappear around a corner before we carefully made the U-turn.

    The car would not be “home” tonight. We found a Harrah’s Casino overlooking the Illinois River. The first “we’ll pay for it” bed, the casino-hotel became home as we bunked down for the night.


    This post is one in a series that document our 400-day trip round the world (2005-2006). Each segment will be linked in at RTW.


  • The rebirth of house calls by doctors


    Waiting for a modern house call from my doctor, I drink green tea
    Now this is a much more pleasant way to wait for the doctor!

    Say “2020” and everyone thinks COVID-19, Coronavirus and pandemic. On a brighter side, 2020 marks the rebirth of house calls by doctors. Not the old fashioned kind of house calls where “Doc” climbed the back stairs and knocked on the door. People who knew about house calls often lament their passing as the world became a more hectic, efficiency based place to live.

    I still have childhood memories of Doc Gordon and his little black bag. It had magical, hinged racks inside that yawed opened to reveal a miniature pharmacy. He was our family doctor and the one who opened his office one night so our entire family could come in for the new polio vaccine shots.

    Today my doctor’s house call uses Skype to connect us, face to face, electronically. I sit in the comfort of my home while I wait for my doctor to make his call. Calmly sipping my morning green tea, I finish one online jigsaw puzzle and start on a daily Sudoku.

    Tablet hums and my doctor joins me via computer call

    My Samsung tablet sits open, wedged between my desktop monitor and keyboard. I live in a very technically outfitted home. Rob waits nearby to help if the call comes in and I forget which button to press. Buzz …. Skype call comes in.

    My doctor and I acknowledge that we can see each other. He comments on my haircut and we both laugh. In all the pandemonium of the pandemic, getting a haircut has taken on a whole new level of necessity. I admit that I finally gave in and got it all chopped off.

    He asks how I’m doing and we discuss what brought us together this morning. Five minutes later he signs off and I’m good for the day. No muss, no fuss. Why did I bother putting pants on, I wonder. I push the button to disconnect the call and feel fortunate that today’s technology allows such human interactions despite the need for stay at home recommendations.

    I think I’m going to miss these calls. Maybe our doctor will realize he can “see” more patients in a day using Skype? It might be better for all of us than having patients waiting impatiently in his waiting room. A new norm, born of a pandemic.

    Another deadly virus remembered

    Just as this rebirth of house calls by doctors has brought memories of Doc Gordon, it also brings memories of another deadly virus: polio. Those memories come tumbling into my mind, as vivid as if today were 1955. I recall the family conversations about whether or not to get the Salk vaccine. Even as a child, I understood the facts about polio. It was a disease everyone feared for their children.

    Many families chose not to get the polio vaccine at first but it was our collective agreement that we would. We were fearless and believed in Jonas Salk as a healer and as a man of science. So one night we walked uptown to Doc Gordon’s office. We would get the vaccine as a family. But one of us didn’t.

    Doc Gordon said my Dad’s limp was from polio he must have contracted as a child. Dad always thought he hurt himself falling during a basketball game but Doc said it was more likely he fell because he was ill. Before that revelation, I had bought my Dad’s story that his leg was carved out of wood and each hair was inserted by a master craftsman.

    He even let us stick pins in it one day and never blinked. I think now that Doc Gordon had more to go on for his diagnosis than just seeing the limping gate.

    Will we ever learn from our mistakes?

    Associations of ideas and concepts are what get my mind to musing. Today I cannot help but wonder if future generations will learn from our foolishness during this pandemic. After all, we as a society apparently did not learn from the Spanish Flu fiasco of 1918, nor through polio. Some people today prefer to get their information from strangers on the internet.

    Personally, I think humans are the only animals that don’t learn anything from those who came before them. Even crows can pass along the need to be wary of men wearing Nixon masks. Here we are, in 2020, surrounded by people who think the Coronavirus is a hoax.

    Doc Gordon has lived fondly in my memory all my life

    I was still just a child when Doc Gordon died, quite tragically. After carrying his two boys to safety, he ran back into his burning home for his wife. Neither came out. Over the years I’ve thought of them often. Doc and his boys. My mother said they went to go live with an aunt. I was never sure that was true or if she said that to calm me.

    I remember him as kind and caring. He once visited my brother who was sick, in bed. After giving him a shot, he broke off the tip of the syringe and gave it to my brother to use as a water gun. Moments like those are what we are thinking about as we speak of “the good old days.” No rules and regulations to protect us from ourselves. We lived and learned by the rules of common sense.

  • Scars

    Even now
    that the wound
    has healed
    and the scar
    so barely shows
    
    there are times
    of pain and anguish
    when the nightmares
    let me know
    
    how fragile
    a mind can be
    as memory
    replays trauma
    into the night
    
    and yesterday's sorrow
    fills the void
    with doubt
    and aching heart
    brought low
    
    making it hard
    to fight the demons
    and see the cure
    lies waiting
    for tomorrow
    
    when the pain
    will ebb
    and joy return
    as dawn
    defeats the foe.

    Reprinted 2020 by Marilyn Paluszak from a poem first written in 1986.

    Some poems flow freely, without punctuation, and boundaries. I have chosen not to return to edit this one but to leave it wild.


  • Even a 400-day journey needs a start date

    Once we committed to the decision to go round the world — our first of hundreds or more decisions to come along the way — we needed to chose a start date.

    Rob and I had lots of discussions about where we wanted to go after that inspirational trip to Peru in 1989. We made notes on paper napkins over hundreds of dinners. We even put up a 13′ x 8′ atlas on our living room wall. But to chose an actual date?

    Fast track through our decision making process to June 2005. We sold our condo and gave away or sold most of our possessions. I was retired and Rob decided to quit his job as Chief Information Security Officer.

    Everything we read said to circumnavigate the globe you should go on a westward path because of the time zones. So we headed east. We knew we wanted to move to New Hampshire when we returned, so it made sense to pack up what would fit into a 10′ x 15′ storage unit and head to the Manchester area.

    We rented a small cottage on Baboosic Lake for the summer months. Rob needed a brain break from work to reset his mind. We also needed the time to finalize a list of places we wanted to see and agree on a way to travel.

    When to leave?

    If every journey needs a start date, ours was going to depend on where and how we would leave the United States. Rob found a freighter agent who helped get us passage on the “CP Tui.” She was a cargo ship scheduled to leave Long Beach, California, in late-September.

    Better yet, the Tui was scheduled to head straight to Auckland, New Zealand. That two week voyage would get us to the Southern Hemisphere without having to fly for some horrible number of hours.

    It was perfect timing because neither of us wanted to carry heavy winter clothing. Our first major decision was that we wanted to spend our winter months where it would be summer. Once we knew this could be an option, we started talking about how to get to California.

    Road Trip!

    It was easy for us to decide to drive across the United States. We had the time and that way we could stop along the way to say our goodbyes to close family and friends. My car had been sold but we figured Rob’s older car could make the trip.

    Driving west meant we could carry more things, like books and magazines to read on the freighter. We even had plans for what to do if the car died along the way. The title was in the glove-box so we could sign it over to a tow truck driver if needed. East of the Mississippi and we’d fly to CA; west we’d try for a train; and if we got over the Rockies, we’d take a bus.

    The day of reckoning

    We drove to an LL Bean store in Maine on August 26, 2005 to pick up some last minute travel items: two titanium eating utensils for emergencies, a couple of bug-free shirts and a pair of cargo pants for each of us.

    The next morning we said our final farewell to Baboosic Lake and headed to Albany to stay with my mother. We spent four days and had several dinners with family and friends.

    Leaving my mother was my hardest goodbye. I had always been the nearest child. My sister was 40-some miles away and my brother, 1,000. Rob had arranged for internet phone service so we knew we would be in touch often. She was so excited for us but still a bit unsure so we made a promise to each other: neither of us would do anything foolish and we would see each other in about a year.


    This post is one in a series that document our 400-day trip round the world (2005-2006). Each segment will be linked in at RTW.



    Driving across the United States

    PART 1: Manchester (NH) to Albany (NY)


    Baboosic Lake, NH
    Baboosic Lake, NH
    Summer rental
    Champagne for a toast to a safe journey
    Last night toast
    Dashboard showing mileage at the start of our cross country road trip
    Odometer reading
    Storage unit in Manchester, NH
    Storage unit in Manchester
    Falling rock zone sign in Vermont.
    First of many roadside signs

  • Happy anniversary to us

    Rob and Marilyn cutting wedding cake at post-wedding party in Albany condo
    Married in Las Vegas, we partied in Albany and then in Buffalo afterward. Twice the cake!

    Our anniversary lunch-dinner was more elaborate than our wedding day dinner. After we married at the famous Little White Chapel, we had just enough time to change into travel clothes and grab a quick dinner at a Johnny Rockets at a casino before moving on to the airport for our red-eye flight home with our surprise news plastered on my chest via the T-shirt in the photo, above.


    I was reminded that today is our wedding anniversary by my older (ha!) sister’s electronic card in my inbox this morning. And then Facebook’s compilation of photos. Both did a great job in their selections.

    We were an unlikely pairing from the get-go. Robert and I shared a middle class upbringing and I spent two years at the same university he graduated from, BUT the elephant in our room was age. He was not yet four-years-old when I arrived as a freshman. Or is it a freshwoman these days??

    He was so young when we met that when I look back on photos I wonder at my boldness. In my defense, I did try to fix him up with a couple of young women I knew. He was such a nice guy and smart and ….. well, they were much to involved in partying to care. In the end it was their loss; and my gain.

    Celebration

    If you know us, you’ll understand our anniversary blow out took the form of an eye appointment for me and then lunch/dinner at a nearby Carrabba’s. That is one of my favorite restaurants. First, it has lots of booths so you can carry on a conversation with the people in the booth and not have to listen to everyone else’s discussions. Second, it has professional waitstaff who are very well trained. Third, but not last, it serves the best steak in town. It is, after all, Carrabba’s Italian Grill. Not that I had steak, mind you, because their chicken Marsala with mushrooms is very tasty, as well.

    Rob also had a $20 gift card so it wasn’t a big out of pocket expense. Not that we pay cash for anything. This is where knowing us, especially knowing Rob, comes into the equation. He is all about research. He puts stickers on credit cards to remind us (that means me) which ones are for restaurants, or for gas, motels, etc.

    I do not clip grocery coupons. Never have. But over one memorable several-year span I bought thousands of dollars of books for free. Walked into the store, made my selections, handed over a fist full of $5-off coupons and left with nary a dime leaving my pocket.

    When we came home from our world journey, there was about $300 worth of coupons in the storage unit. Fortunately, I used them all up before Waldenbooks went out of business.

    Cheap, thrifty, frugal or what?

    Sometimes I say we are cheap but that really is not correct. We will pay good money (where do these terms come from?) for a piece of art we like but we will not pay any money for a cheap trinket or an ugly vase.

    Thrifty sounds like we only shop at dollar stores and that isn’t true, either. We have standards. We will go to the local flea and farmer’s market for specific sorts of items like sunglasses. Who would pay more than $7 for a pair of sunglasses anyway?

    Frugal sounds like a cake Grandma Moses would have made for Christmas. It might fit us, though. After all, we got married on the fly, returning home through Vegas from an artificial intelligence conference and Rob wrote off part of his expenses.

    I think I just worked around to savvy. You have to love a word with double Vs, yes? There may be calendar years between us, but there is no gap when it comes to money. We both worked hard for it; we both benefit from putting money aside in savings for our future; we both understand that choices have consequences; and we have discussed and agree on a lifestyle.

    No wonder today is a happy anniversary.

  • Peru, 1989: Inspiring travel

    Inca ruins of Machu Picchu
    Machu Picchu

    The inspiration to travel started before Robert was even born. In fact, it all began with a Caterpillar Tractor Company calendar on the kitchen wall.

    You see, my family got a calendar every year because my Dad worked for “Cat.” Those calendars had the most beautiful pictures from exotic locations around the world. Machu Picchu was my favorite.

    That particular photograph never left my mind from the first time I saw it.

    Years (okay, decades) later, Rob and I walked by a travel agency with that same iconic photo of Machu Picchu in their window. It made me stop in my tracks.

    I’ve always wanted to go there,” I said. “Why don’t we,” asked Rob.

    The American Express tour in the advert ended up being cancelled. They could not get 10 people to go because the Shining Path was waging gorilla war against the government. Many places were considered dangerous despite the fact they were not targeting foreigners.

    So we decided we’d go alone.

    It still amazes me when I think back on our decision to go alone. It is a testament to how thoroughly I trusted Rob and how totally trusting we both were about everything. With nothing more than a round trip ticket and one night’s lodging arranged in Lima, we took off.

    I was looking forward to seeing Machu Picchu and Rob was excited about going down the Amazon. It was our good luck to meet a former American Express tour guide in Lima. He made it possible for us to do everything we wanted to do.

    We even took a ride on a reed boat on Lake Titicaca. There was an indigenous group of Peruvians who actually lived on man-made reed “islands” that floated freely at that time. It was surreal. It felt like we were trapped in a “National Geographic” article. And a few days later we got to ride a bus down the famous Pan-American Highway.

    The inspiration to travel comes in many forms. Travel itself is inspiring. You learn about yourself, about other cultures, about how to make your dreams come true. Traveling is more than taking a vacation. For us, travel is a lifestyle choice.

    From our story, “400-days/155-beds” to be published in a series of blog posts by Marilyn Paluszak

    We came to realize that packing travel into a vacation is expensive. It cost more money to see Peru in three weeks than it would have if we had three months. Planes and trains are fast, but expensive. Worse, they leave no time to linger along the way.

    Peru became our inspiration for future journeys. We learned we could travel independently. More importantly, we learned we wanted to:

    Enjoy the journey as well as the destination.

  • Florida Sunset

    sunset over the pacific

    This is not a Florida sunset; this photo was taken from a freighter in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I tried valiantly to capture more than one sunset as we headed SW toward New Zealand.

    So different from the one in the poem and from the one in this site’s banner. That “Pink Beauty” deserves a poem of her own. She was captured from our rooftop dining area of our rental in Comares, Spain, in May 2006.

    A spiritual man
    asked for words
    to tell of this night,
    when He chose to
    wipe the horizon
    with hands oiled
    in bright reds and
    a touch of umber.
    
    Nearby, a girl
    wondered if her
    battered camera
    could get those
    long, greasy,
    red-fingered lines
    scrawled across
    the horizon.
    
    Standing in silence
    in the parking lot,
    unaware of the other,
    or of the woman
    by the door,
    with the brush
    dripping red
    by her side.
    
    A bird's
    thrilled call
    broke the hush
    and each turned away;
    as if in unison
    they knew the futility
    of even trying to
    capture this beauty.

    Republished in 2020 by Marilyn Paluszak. This poem was originally written after bearing witness to a spectacular sunset from a Walmart parking lot in July 2011.


  • Tree

    Silver shantung-like tree in a ruin at Angkor Wat, Cambodia

    Who could resist falling in love with this tree? I took this photo while viewing some of the temples in the Angkor Wat complex, Cambodia (2006).


    This is a tree,
    its limbs reaching high.
    Once it flourished,
    now it's doomed to die.
    
    The buds sprouted early,
    then the leaves -- red and orange
    Brought color to the tree,
    that mighty, solid, symbol of me.
    
    Yes, symbol I say,
    for I too stand
    Quietly peeping
    at that thing called Man.
    
    My leaves fell away,
    blew to distant lands.
    There to be picked at
    by unfamiliar hands.
    
    I too stand naked
    in the breezy night air.
    Gazing at the stars above,
    striving for the beauty
    so far out of reach.
    
    All gnarled and dry,
    it heaves a mighty sigh.
    We're one, that tree and I,
    for both are doomed to die.
    

    Republished by Marilyn Paluszak in 2020 from my original poem written to accompany a college writing assignment in 1966.


  • Poetry as a muse

    The first poem I wrote was as a sophomore in college. Totally depressed at the time, I had little purpose and wanted to be anyplace else on Earth, doing just about anything else. There was nothing amusing about my mood but maybe that is why I came to realize poetry as a muse. Inspiration comes from many places.

    My English professor was also one of my best friend’s lover. That’s right. I had to face this man at the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m. every Saturday morning. I wonder now if there wasn’t a correlation there, somewhere. My class had been tasked with writing a paper about ourselves because, to paraphrase, “…we were too inexperienced to write about anything else.”

    Tortured, I handed in a paper that was rapidly returned with a note that I could do better, dig deeper. So I capitulated and tossed five pages of catharsis onto paper, double spaced and typed on a rickety old typewriter. Then, slurping a soda in the Rathskeller one afternoon, I started writing a poem about a tree. About me.

    We’re one, this tree and I …

    In the end, I drew that tree and handed in the drawing, the poem, and my revised paper as one. I will never forget his note: “I could have graded you on the drawing of the tree alone, as it is that revealing.” Damn. Then, to my surprise, he wrote: “Unlike other young poets, you did not sacrifice meaning for rhyme. A++”

    A young poet? Me? Apparently not a proficient one as I’ve learned that poems only come to me every so often. Words fill my head, an idea blooms, and if I’m very lucky there will be a pen and paper nearby.

    Poetry is personal

    I refused to share my poems with anyone for a very long time. They were personal memories held tight and hidden. A near lifetime flew past and we moved to Florida where I became a member of a Creative Writing Club and then a Journalism Club. I’ve learned from those that I enjoy writing but am not goal driven.

    Another couple of years later and a Florida friend drew me into a group called the Poetry Pals. We are not an official club-club. We just are a handful of women who enjoy hosting each other for a lunch and to share poetry. Usually the hostess picks a topic but any poems brought will do. One woman is a prolific, published poet; two of us write when the heavens move us; the others just enjoy the shared time, stories and poetry.

    Somewhere in there, Rob encouraged me to publish two short stories online, through Smashwords.com so Maybelle and Mattie: Each with a story of her own to tell is available for free to the world. I don’t advertise that and rarely look to see if anyone is still reading them. By now they must be way-way-way down the list. It isn’t as easy to format poetry so those never got recorded.

    Not too long ago, my husband and I were discussing blog and website development. Rob said I really should publish my poetry so it will be there when I’m not. Okay, maybe not that bluntly, but I got it. I surely cannot leave him with a binder of poems and the burden of not knowing what to do with it — with them. AMusingMarilyn will be my vehicle.

    If you stumble across my poems and enjoy one or two, thank you for the compliment. Please feel free to share my words but remember that written words are copyrighted as they are written. Always give an author credit for her work, for her words. I share them like leaves floating into the ethos but they are my leaves and I really do not want to see them crumpled and distraught.

    This sharing business will obviously take a leap of faith on my part.

    I understand that cheating in schools pre-COVID19 had become rampant — the new norm. That bothers me because cheating only cheats the one who cheats. To plagiarize is bad enough as it admits defeat in your own strength to create, to accomplish. That is not a satisfying path to wander. To steal someone else’s work entirely is far more offensive. Taking someone else’s intellectual property and putting your own or anyone else’s name on it is mean and illegal.

    ~AMusing Marilyn

    Me in an Amazon River water taxi in Iquitos, Peru